For Whose Sake, Henceforth, All His Vows

It Strikes! One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six. Enough, Enough, Dear Watch, Thy Pulse Hath Beat Enough. Now Sleep And Rest; Would Thou Could'st Make The Time To Do So Too; I'll Wind Thee Up No More.

Tis The Common Disease Of All Your Musicians That They Know No Mean, To Be Entreated, Either To Begin Or End.

A Good Life Is A Main Argument.

Greatness Of Name, In The Father, Ofttimes Helps Not Forth, But Overwhelms The Son: They Stand Too Near One Another. The Shadow Kills The Growth.

Very Few Men Are Wise By Their Own Council, Or Learned By Their Own Teaching. For He That Was Only Taught By Himself, Had A Fool For A Master.