Omittance Is No Quittance.

If There Were Reason For These Miseries, Then Into Limits Could I Bind My Woes. If The Winds Rages, Doth Not The Sea Wax Mad, Threat'ning The Welkin With Its Big-swoll'n Face? And Wilt Though Have A Reason For This Coil? I Am The Sea. Hark How Her Sighs Doth Blow. She Is The Weeping Welkin, I The Earth.

Too Nice, And Yet Too True!

The Sweat Of Industry Would Dry And Die, But For The End It Works To.

Have You Not Heard It Said Full Oft, A Woman's Nay Doth Stand For Naught?

You Dull Ass Will Not Mend His Pace With Beating.