They Are Hare-brain'd Slaves.

If You Can Look Into The Seeds Of Time, And Say Which Grain Will Grow And Which Will Not, Speak Then Unto Me.

Lend Less Than You Owe.

Let Me Tell You, Cassius, You Yourself Are Much Condemned To Have An Itching Palm.

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes, Bliss In Our Brows' Bent; None Our Parts So Poor But Was A Race Of Heaven.

Wisdom Cries Out In The Streets, And No Man Regards It.