Put Forth Thy Hand, Reach At The

Though Authority Be A Stubborn Bear, Yet He Is Oft Let By The Nose With Gold.

Come Not Within The Measure Of My Wrath.

No Deeper Wrinkles Yet? Hath Sorrow Struck So Many Blows Upon This Face Of Mine And Made No Deeper Wounds?

That In The Captains But A Choleric Word Which In The Soldier Is Flat Blasphemy.

I Have Set My Life Upon A Cast, And I Will Stand The Hazard Of The Die.