By My Soul I Swear, There Is

They Have A Plentiful Lack Of Wit.

I Must Be Cruel, Only To Be Kind.

Verily, I Swear, It Is Better To Be Lowly Born, And Range With Humble Livers In Content, Than To Be Perked Up In A Glistering Grief, And Wear A Golden Sorrow.

Are You Sure/that We Are Awake? It Seems To Me/that Yet We Sleep, We Dream

Doubting Things Go Ill Often Hurts More Than To Be Sure They Do; For Certainties Either Are Past Remedies, Or, Timely Knowing, The Remedy Then Born.