I Hate The Murderer, Love Him Murdered.

Smooth Runs The Water Where The Brook Is Deep.

He That Loves To Be Flattered Is Worthy O' The Flatterer.

The Eyes Are The Window To Your Soul

Pardon, Gentles All, The Flat Unraised Spirits That Have Dared On This Unworthy Scaffold To Bring Forth So Great An Object.

If It Were Done When 'tis Done, Then 'twere Well. It Were Done Quickly.