Honor's Thought Reigns Solely In The Breast

Silence Is The Perfectest Herault Of Joy. I Were But Little Happy If I Could Say How Much.

Now 'tis Spring, And Weeds Are Shallow-rooted; Suffer Them Now And They'll O'ergrow The Garden.

It Is The Bright Day That Brings Forth The Adder, And That Craves Wary Walking.

Who Finds The Heifer Dead And Bleeding Fresh And Sees Fast-by A Butcher With An Axe, But Will Suspect 'twas He That Made The Slaughter?

Th Abuse Of Greatness Is When It Disjoins Remorse From Power.