Suit The Action To The Word, The

Be Not Afraid Of Greatness.

But When The Fox Hath Once Got In His Nose, He'll Soon Find Means To Make The Body Follow.

She Says I Am Not Fair, That I Lack Manners; She Calls Me Proud, And That She Could Not Love Me, Were Man As Rare As Phoenix.

Retire Me To My Milan, Where Every Third Thought Shall Be My Grave.

Her Blood Is Settled, And Her Joints Are Stiff; Life And These Lips Have Long Been Separated: Death Lies On Her Like An Untimely Frost Upon The Sweetest Flower Of All The Field.