Patch Up Thine Old Body For Heaven.

Thou Frothy Tickle-brained Hedge-pig!

I Have Thrust Myself Into This Maze, Haply To Wive And Thrive As Best I May.

I Will Be Master Of What Is Mine Own: She Is My Goods, My Chattels; She Is My House, My Household Stuff, My Field, My Barn, My Horse, My Ox, My Ass, My Any Thing.

The Breach Of Custom Is Breach Of All.

Vice Repeated Is Like The Wandering Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eyes To Spread Itself.