If One Good Deed In

Many A True Word Hath Been Spoken In Jest.

Beauty Lives With Kindness.

As For My Wife, I Would You Had Her Spirit In Such Another; The Third O' Th' World Is Yours, Which With A Snaffle You May Pace Easy, But Not Such A Wife.

But Love That Comes Too Late, Like A Remorseful Pardon Slowly Carried, To The Great Sender Turns A Sour Offense, Crying, 'that's Good That's Gone.

The Language I Have Learnt These Forty Years, My Native English, Now I Must Forgo; And Now My Tongue's Use Is To Me No More Than An Unstringed Viol Or A Harp, Or Like A Cunning Instrument Cased Up Or, Being Open, Put Into His Hands That Knows No Touch To Tune The Harmony.