The Rose Looks Fair, But Fairer We

Men's Faults Do Seldom To Themselves Appear.

What I Have Done Is Yours; What I Have To Do Is Yours; Being Part In All I Have, Devoted Yours.

I Have Seen The Day Of Wrong Through The Little Hole Of Discretion, And I Will Right Myself Like A Soldier.

Like A Man Made After Supper Of A Cheese-paring: When A' Was Naked, He Was, For All The World, Like A Forked Radish, With A Head Fantastically Carved Upon It With A Knife.

...too Much Sadness Hath Congealed Your Blood,and Melancholy Is The Nurse Of Frenzy.