Thou Art The Best O' The Cut-throats

There Are A Sort Of Men, Whose Visages Do Cream And Mantle, Like A Standing Pond; And Do A Willful Stillness Entertain, With Purpose To Be Dressed In An Opinion Of Wisdom, Gravity Profound Conceit; As Who Should Say, I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark!

Well, Honor Is The Subject Of My Story.

He That Is Proud Eats Up Himself: Pride Is His Own Glass, His Own Trumpet, His Own Chronicle.

Muster Your Wits; Stand In Your Own Defence.

Were Kisses All The Joys In Bed, One Woman Would Another Wed.