Truth Will Come To Sight;

Why, Who Cries Out On Pride That Can Therein Tax Any Private Party? Doth It Not Flow As Hugely As The Sea Till The Weary Very Means Do Ebb?

A Wretched Soul, Bruised With Adversity, We Bid Be Quiet When We Hear It Cry; But Were We Burdened With Light Weight Of Pain, As Much Or More We Should Ourselves Complain.

O Good Old Man, How Well In Thee Appears The Constant Service Of The Antique World, When Service Sweat For Duty, Not For Meed! Thou Art Not For The Fashion Of These Times, Where None Will Sweat But For Promotion, And Having That Do Choke Their Service Up Even With The Having. . . .

Misery Acquaints A Man With Strange Bedfellows.

Can You Nominate In Order Now The Degrees Of The Lie? I Will Name You The Degrees. The First, The Retort Courteous; The Second, The Quip Modest; The Third, The Reply Churlish; The Fourth, The Reproof Valiant; The Fifth; The Countercheck Quarrelsome; The Sixth, The Lie With Circumstance; The Seventh, The Lie Direct. All These You May Avoid But The Lie Direct; And You May Avoid That Too, With An If. . . . Your If Is The Only Peace-maker; Much Virtue In If.