My Crown Is Called Content,

Foul Deeds Will Rise, Though All The Earth O'erwhelm Them, To Men's Eyes.

Frame Your Mind To Mirth And Merriment Which Bars A Thousand Harms And Lengthens Life.

Silence Is The Perfectest Herald Of Joy: I Were But Little Happy, If I Could Say How Much. Lady, As You Are Mine, I Am Yours: I Give Away Myself For You And Dote Upon The Exchange.

Talkers Are No Good Doers.

You Shall More Command With Years Than With Your Weapons.