A Fusty Nut With No Kernel.

The Wound Of Peace Is Surety, Surety Secure; But Modest Doubt Is Called The Beacon Of The Wise, The Tent That Searches To Th' Bottom Of The Worst.

I Am Asham'd That Women Are So Simple To Offer War Where They Should Kneel For Peace.

Poor And Content, Is Rich And Rich Enough; But Riches, Fineless, Is As Poor As Winter, To Him That Ever Fears He Shall Be Poor.

That, Sir, Which Serves And Seeks For Gain, And Follows But For Form, Will Pack, When It Begins To Rain, And Leave Thee In A Storm.

O Thou Invisible Spirit Of Wine, If Thou Hast No Name To Be Known By, Let Us Call Thee Devil.