The Fewer Men, The Greater

Methinks I Am A Prophet New Inspired And Thus, Expiring, Do Foretell Of Him: His Rash Fierce Blaze Of Riot Cannot Last, For Violent Fires Soon Burn Out Themselves; Small Show'rs Last Long, But Sudden Storms Are Short; He Tires Betimes That Spurs Too Fast Betimes; With Eager Feeding Doth Choke The Feeder; Light Vanity, Insatiate Cormorant, Consuming Means, Soon Preys Upon Itself.

When Caesar Says, 'do This', It Is Performed.

A Great Cause Of The Night Is Lack Of The Sun.

They Lie Deadly That Tell You Have Good Faces.

Affliction May One Day Smile Again; And Till Then, Sit Thee Down, Sorrow!.