Greatly His Foes He Dreads,

Drawn By Conceit From Reason's Plan How Vain Is That Poor Creature Man; How Pleas'd In Ev'ry Paltry Elf To Grate About That Thing Himself.

The More Haste, Ever The Worst Speed.

Even In A Hero's Heart Discretion Is The Better Part.

The Scots Are Poor, Cries Surly English Pride; True Is The Charge, Nor By Themselves Denied. Are They Not Then In Strictest Reason Clear, Who Wisely Come To Mend Their Fortunes Here?

Patience Is Sorrow's Salve.