The Quality Of Nothing Hath Not Such

Men Prize The Thing Ungained More Than It Is.

The Tyrant Custom, Most Grave Senators, Hath Made The Flinty And Steel Couch Of War My Thrice-driven Bed Of Down.

Too Early Seen Unknown, And Known Too Late!

Conscience Is But A Word That Cowards Use, Devised At First To Keep The Strong In Awe

Good Friend For Jesus Sake Forbeare, To Digg The Dust Encloased Heare! Blest Be The Man That Spares Thes Stones, And Curst Be He That Moves My Bones.