Be Checked For Silence, But Never Taxed

O The World Is But A Word; Were It All Yours To Give It In A Breath, How Quickly Were It Gone!

A Politician... One That Would Circumvent God.

Now Stand You On The Top Of Happy Hours, And Many Maiden Gardens Yet Unset, With Virtuous Wish Would Bear You Living Flowers, Much Liker Than Your Painted Counterfeit: So Should The Lines Of Life That Life Repair Which This, Time's Pencil, Or My Pupil Pen Neither In Inward Worth Nor Outward Fair Can Make You Live Your Self In Eyes Of Men.

Knavery's Plain Face Is Never Seen Till Used.

This Liberty Is All That I Request.