I Do Oppose My Patience To His

I Would Give All Of My Fame For A Pot Of Ale And Safety.

Small Herbs Have Grace, Great Weeds Do Grow Apace.

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?

Tis Not A Year Or Two Shows Us A Man: They Are All But Stomachs, And We All But Food; They Eat Us Hungerly, And When They Are Full They Belch Us.

A Time, Methinks, Too Short To Make A World-without-end Bargain In.