How Easy It Is For

If After Every Tempest Come Such Calms, May The Winds Blow Till They Have Waken'd Death!

In Delay There Lies No Plenty.

For There Was Never Yet Philosoper That Could Endure The Toothache Patiently, However They Have Writ The Style Of Gods, And Made A Push At Chance And Sufferance.

Conscience Is But A Word That Cowards Use, Devised At First To Keep The Strong In Awe

If You Have Tears, Prepare To Shed Them Now.