So Many Horrid Ghosts.

O! She Doth Teach The Torches To Burn Bright It Seems She Hangs Upon The Cheek Of Night Like A Rich Jewel In An Ethiop's Ear; Beauty Too Rich For Use, For Earth Too Dear. - Romeo -

Give Me A Staff Of Honor For Mine Age, But Not A Sceptre To Control The World.

What Many Men Desire--that 'many' May Be Meant By The Fool Multitude That Choose By Show, Not Learning More Than The Fond Eye Doth Teach, Which Pries Not To Th' Interior, But Like The Martlet Builds In The Weather On The Outward Wall, Even In The Force And Road Of Casualty.

Wait For The Season When To Cast Good Counsels Upon Subsiding Passion.

Wisely Weigh Our Sorrow With Our Comfort.