Away, You Mouldy Rogue, Away!

My Rage Is Gone, And I Am Struck With Sorrow. Take Him Up. Help, Three O' Th' Chiefest Soldiers; I'll Be One. Beat Thou The Drum, That It Speaks Mournfully, Trail Your Steel Spikes. Though In This City He Hath Widowed And Unchilded Many A One, Which To This Hour Bewail The Injury, Yet He Shall Have A Noble Memory. Assist.

The Labor We Delight In Physics [cures] Pain.

Men That Hazard All Do It In Hope Of Fair Advantages: A Golden Mind Stoops Not To Shows Of Dross.

Every Why Hath A Wherefore.

Were It Good To Set The Exact Wealth Of All Our States All At One Cast? To Set So Rich A Main On The Nice Hazard Of One Doubtful Hour? It Were Not Good.