The Weakest Goes To The Wall.

There Is Nothing But Roguery To Be Found In Villainous Men.

Let Fame, That All Hunt After In Their Lives, Live Regist'red Upon Our Brazen Tombs And Then Grace Us In The Disgrace Of Death; When, Spite Of Cormorant Devouring Time, Th' Endeavor Of This Present Breath May Buy That Honor Which Shall Bate His Scythe's Keen Edge And Make Us Heirs Of All Eternity.

Thy Wit Is A Very Bitter Sweeting; It Is A Most Sharp Sauce.

I Had Rather Be A Kitten And Cry Mew Than One Of These Same Metre Ballet-mongers.

A Golden Mind Stoops Not To Shows Of Dross.