For By His Face Straight Shall You

A Peace Is Of The Nature Of A Conquest; For Then Both Parties Nobly Are Subdued, And Neither Party Loser.

Men's Evil Manners Live In Brass; Their Virtues We Write In Water.

But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At: I Am Not What I Am.

He Wears The Rose Of Youth Upon Him.

The Heart Hath Treble Wrong When It Is Barr'd The Aidance Of The Tongue.