Death, As The Psalmist Saith, Is Certain

I Have Set My Life Upon A Cast, And I Will Stand The Hazard Of The Die.

Thrice Is He Arm'd That Hath His Quarrel Just, And He But Naked, Though Lock'd Up In Steel, Whose Conscience With Injustice Is Corrupted.

All That Glitters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told: Many A Man His Life Has Sold But My Outside To Behold: Gilded Tombs Do Worms Enfold Had You Been As Wise As Bold, Your In Limbs, In Judgment Old, Your Answer Had Not Been In'scroll'd Fare You Well: Your Suit Is Cold.' Cold, Indeed, And Labour Lost: Then, Farewell, Heat And Welcome, Frost!

In Struggling With Misfortunes Lies The True Proof Of Virtue.

Omission To Do What Is Necessary Seals A Commission To A Blank Of Danger; And Danger, Like An Ague, Subtly Taints Even Then When We Sit Idly In The Sun.