Like A Barber's Chair That

What E'er You Are That In This Desert Inaccessible, Under The Shade Of Melancholy Boughs, Lose And Neglect The Creeping Hours Of Time.

A Knavish Speech Sleeps In A Fool's Ear.

Doubting Things Go Ill Often Hurts More Than To Be Sure They Do; For Certainties Either Are Past Remedies, Or, Timely Knowing, The Remedy Then Born.

Better A Little Chiding Than A Great Deal Of Heartbreak.

Base Is The Slave That Pays.