There Is Throats To Be Cut, And

There Is A History In All Men's Lives, Figuring The Nature Of The Times Deceased, The Which Observed, A Man May Prophesy, With A Near Aim, Of The Main Chance Of Things As Yet Not Come To Life, Which In Their Seeds And Weak Beginnings Lie Intreasured.

The Love Of Heaven Makes One Heavenly.

My Thoughts Are Whirled Like A Potter's Wheel; I Know Not Where I Am Nor What I Do.

There Is Special Providence In The Fall Of A Sparrow.

Let Not Our Babbling Dreams Affright Our Souls; Conscience Is But A Work That Cowards Use, Devised At First To Keep The Strong In Awe: Our Strong Arms Be Our Conscience, Swords Our Law!