The Loyalty, Well Held To Fools, Does

How Lush And Lusty The Grass Looks! How Green!

What Drink'st Thou Oft, Instead Of Homage Sweet, But Poisoned Flattery?

Merciful Heaven, Thou Rather With Thy Sharp And Sulphurous Bolt Splits The Unwedgeable And Gnarled Oak Than The Soft Myrtle; But Man, Proud Man, Dressed In A Little Brief Authority, Most Ignorant Of What He's Most Assured His Glassy Essence--like An Angry Ape Plays Such Fantastic Tricks Before High Heaven As Makes The Angels Weep; Who, With Our Spleens, Would All Themselves Laugh Mortal.

There Is Not One Wise Man In Twenty That Will Praise Himself.

He That Commends Me To Mine Own Content Commends Me To The Thing I Cannot Get.