Comfort's In Heaven, And We Are On

Thrift, Thrift, Horatio! The Funeral Bak'd Meats Did Coldly Furnish Forth The Marriage Tables.

You Know Who You Are, But Know Not Who You Could Be.

This Fellow Is Wise Enough To Play The Fool; And To Do That Well Craves A Kind Of Wit: He Must Observe Their Mood On Whom He Jests, The Quality Of Persons, And The Time, And, Like The Haggard, Check At Every Feather That Comes Before His Eye. This Is A Practise As Full Of Labour As A Wise Man's Art For Folly That He Wisely Shows Is Fit; But Wise Men, Folly-fall'n, Quite Taint Their Wit.

I Speak Of Peace, While Covert Enmity Under The Smile Of Safety Wounds The World

Sweets With Sweets War Not, Joy Delights In Joy.