There's No Art To Find

Good Old Grandsire ... We Shall Be Joyful Of Thy Company.

Do Not Spread The Compost On The Weeds.

Conscience Is A Thousand Swords.

How Ill White Hairs Become A Fool And Jester!

For I Can Raise No Money By Vile Means. By Heaven, I Had Rather Coin My Heart, And Drop My Blood For Drachmas