Hide Not Thy Poison With Such Sugar'd

Either Our History Shall With Full Mouth Speak Freely Of Our Acts, Or Else Our Grave, Like Turkish Mute, Shall Have A Tongueless Mouth, Not Worshipped With A Waxen Epitaph.

Good God, The Souls Of All My Tribe Defend From Jealousy!

I Never See Thy Face But I Think Upon Hell-fire.

Robust Grass Endures Mighty Winds; Loyal Ministers Emerge Through Ordeal.

For Though The Camomile, The More It Is Trodden On The Faster It Grows, Yet Youth, The More It Is Wasted, The Sooner It Wears.