If It Be True That Good Wine

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.

Great Griefs Medicine The Less.

With Caution Judge Of Probability. Things Deemed Unlikely, E'en Impossible, Experience Oft Hath Proved To Be True.

Nothing Comes Amiss, So Money Comes Withal.

Hide Not Thy Poison With Such Sugar'd Words