Women's Weapons, Water-drops.

If Fortune Torments Me, Hope Contents Me.

Heat Not A Furnace For Your Foe So Hot That It Do Singe Yourself.

By A Divine Instinct, Men's Minds Mistrust Ensuing Danger; As, By Proof, We See The Waters Swell Before A Boisterous Storm.

I Hate The Murderer, Love Him Murdered.

Let Me Have War, Say I; It Exceeds Peace As Far As Day Does Night; It's Spritely, Waking, Audible, And Full Of Vent.