Faint Heart Never Won Fair Maid.

Bear With My Weakness. My Old Brain Is Troubled. Be Not Disturbed With My Infirmity.

Soft Pity Enters An Iron Gate.

This Royal Throne Of Kings, This Sceptered Isle, This Earth Of Majesty, This Seat Of Mars, This Other Eden, Demi-paradise, This Fortress Built By Nature For Herself Against Infection And The Hand Of War, This Happy Breed Of Men, This Little World, This Precious Stone Set In The Silver Sea, Which Serves It In The Office Of A Wall Or As A Moat Defensive To A House, Against The Envy Of Less Happier Lands,--this Blessed Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England.

There Is Special Providence In The Fall Of A Sparrow.

The Tongues Of Mocking Wenches Are As Keen As Is The Razor's Edge Invisible.