Thou Art Sad; Get Thee

He Does Me Double Wrong That Wounds Me With The Flatteries Of His Tongue.

You Must Confine Yourself Within The Modest Limits Of Order.

The Eagle Suffers Little Birds To Sing.

No, No; 'tis All Men's Office To Speak Patience To Those That Wring Under The Load Of Sorrow, But No Man's Virtue Nor Sufficiency To Be So Moral When He Shall Endure The Like Himself. Therefore Give Me No Counsel: My Griefs Cry Louder Than Advertisement.

When A Wise Man Gives Thee Better Counsel, Give Me Mine Again.