The Apparel Oft Proclaims The Man.

I Do Oppose My Patience To His Fury, And Am Arm'd To Suffer, With A Quietness Of Spirit, The Very Tyranny And Rage Of His.

They Have Been Grand-jurymen Since Before Noah Was A Sailor

The Weakest Goes To The Wall.

I, Measuring His Affections By My Own, Which Then Most Sought Where Most Might Not Be Found, Being One Too Many By My Weary Self, Pursued My Humor Not Pursuing His, And Gladly Shunned Who Gladly Fled From Me.

There's No Trust, No Faith, No Honesty In Men; All Perjured, All Forsworn, All Naught, All Dissemblers.