All Hoods Make Not Monks.

Thou Art A Slave, Whom Fortune's Tender Arm With Favour Never Clasp'd; But Bred A Dog.

For Oaths Are Straws, Men's Faiths Are Wafer-cakes, And Hold-fast Is The Only Dog.

O War! Thou Son Of Hell!

The Web Of Our Life Is Of A Mingled Yarn, Good And Ill Together.

Methinks You Are My Glass, And Not My Brother: I See By You I Am A Sweet-faced Youth.