O, My Lord, You Said

Thus Sometimes Hath The Brightest Day A Cloud; And After Summer Evermore Succeeds Barren Winter, With His Wrathful Nipping Cold: So Cares And Joys Abound, As Seasons Fleet.

Every Why Has A Wherefore.

Things In Motion Sooner Catch The Eye Than What Not Stirs.

I Stand For Judgment: Answer: Shall I Have It?

Me, Poor Man, My Library Was Dukedom Large Enough.