Fortune Brings In Some Boats That Are

Keep Thy Foot Out Of Brothels, Thy Hand Out Of Plackets, Thy Pen From Lender's Books, And Defy The Foul Fiend.

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension, And The Poor Beetle, That We Tread Upon, In Corporal Sufferance Finds A Pang As Great As When A Giant Dies.

Jesters Do Oft Prove Prophets.

His Steeds To Water At Those Springs On Chaliced Flowers That Lies; And Winking Mary-buds Begin To Ope Their Golden Eyes: With Every Thing That Pretty Is, My Lady Sweet, Arise.

Truth Needs No Color; Beauty, No Pencil.