There Is No Marvel In

If Our Web Be Framed With Rotten Handles, When Our Loom Is Well Nigh Done, Our Work Is New To Begin. God Send The Weaver True Prentices Again, And Let Them Be Denizens.

Of Myself I Must Say This, I Never Was Any Greedy, Scraping Grasper, Nor A Strait Fast-holding Prince, Nor Yet A Master; My Heart Was Never Set On Worldly Goods, But Only For My Subjects' Good.

If I Should Say The Sweetest Speech With The Eloquentest Tongue That Ever Was In Man, I Were Not Able To Express That Restless Care Which I Have Ever Bent To Govern For The Greatest Wealth.

A Meal Of Bread, Cheese And Beer Constitutes The Perfect Food.

We Princes Are Set As It Were Upon Stages, In The Sight And View Of All The World. The Least Spot Is Soon Spied In Our Garments, A Blemish Quickly Noticed In Our Doings.