As Chaste As Is The Bud Ere

He That Is Proud Eats Up Himself: Pride Is His Own Glass, His Own Trumpet, His Own Chronicle.

But Flies An Eagle Flight, Bold And Forth On, Leaving No Tract Behind.

Adieu! I Have Too Grieved A Heart To Take A Tedious Leave.

Shall I Not Take Mine Ease In Mine Inn But I Shall Have My Pocket Picked?

I Have Very Poor And Unhappy Brains For Drinking.