Assume A Virtue, If You Have It

O, What A World Of Vile Ill-favored Faults, Looks Handsome In Three Hundred Pounds A Year!

For God's Sake, Let Us Sit Upon The Ground, And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings... All Murdered; For Within The Hollow Crown That Rounds The Mortal Temples Of A King, Keeps Death His Court... And With A Little Pin Bores Through His Castle Wall, And Farewell King!

It Is The Bright Day That Brings Forth The Adder, And That Craves Wary Walking.

How Use Doth Breed A Habit In A Man.

God Defend The Right.