Age Cannot Wither Her, Nor Custom Stale

And Nothing Is, But What Is Not.

Perseverance, My Dear Lord. Keeps Honour Bright.

Like The Lily That Once Was Mistress Of The Field And Flourished, I'll Hang My Head And Perish.

Though Authority Be A Stubborn Bear, Yet He Is Oft Let By The Nose With Gold.

Yet Do I Fear Thy Nature; It Is Too Full O' The Milk Of Human Kindness To Catch The Nearest Way: Thou Wouldst Be Great; Art Not Without Ambition, But Without The Illness Should Attend It: What Thou Wouldst Highly, That Wouldst Thou Holily; Wouldst Not Play False, And Yet Wouldst Wrongly Win.