There Is A World Elsewhere.

Once More Unto The Breach, Dear Friends, Once More; Or Close The Wall With Our English Dead.

The Crow Doth Sing As Sweetly As The Lark When Neither Is Attended; And I Think The Nightingale, If She Should Sing By Day When Every Goose Is Cackling, Would Be Thought No Better A Musician Than The Wren. How Many Thing By Season Seasoned Are To Their Right Praise And True Perfection!

Can One Desire Too Much Of A Good Thing?

Nothing Comes Amiss, So Money Comes Withal.

So We Grew Together Like To A Double Cherry, Seeming Parted, But Yet An Union In Partition, Two Lovely Berries Molded On One Stem.