Fate's Such A Shrewish Thing.

Fair Words Never Hurt The Tongue.

Who To Himself Is Law No Law Doth Need; Offends None And Is King Indeed.

I Pray, What Flowers Are These? The Pansy This, O, That's For Lover's Thoughts.

Young Men Think Old Men Are Fools, But Old Men Know Young Men Are Fools.

Give Me A Spirit That On This Life's Rough Sea Loves T'have His Sails Filled With A Lusty Wind, Even Till His Sail-yards Tremble, His Masts Crack, And His Ship Run On Her Side So Low That She Drinks Water, And Her Keel Plows Air.