Past All Shame, So Past All Truth.

I Have Shot Mine Arrow O'er The House And Hurt My Brother.

The Foole Doth Thinke He Is Wise, But The Wiseman Knowes Himselfe To Be A Foole.

Let Us, Like Merchants, Show Our Foulest Wares, And Think Perchance They'll Sell; If Not, The Lustre Of The Better Yet To Show Shall Show The Better.

Well-apparel'd April On The Heel Of Limping Winter Treads.

Men Prize The Thing Ungained More Than It Is.