Let Every Man Be Master Of His

Life Every Man Holds Dear; But The Dear Man Holds Honor Far More Precious Dear Than Life.

Sorrow, Like A Heavy Ringing Bell, Once Set On Ringing, With Its Own Weight Goes; Then Little Strength Rings Out The Doleful Knell.

My Prophecy Is But Half His Journey Yet, For Yonder Walls, That Pertly Front Your Town, Yon Towers, Whose Wanton Tops Do Buss The Clouds, Must Kiss Their Own Feet.

Thy Food Is Such As Hath Been Belch'd On By Infected Lungs.

Care Is No Cure, But Rather Corrosive, For Things That Are Not To Be Remedied.