Tis But A Base, Ignoble Mind That

I Will Be Master Of What Is Mine Own: She Is My Goods, My Chattels; She Is My House, My Household Stuff, My Field, My Barn, My Horse, My Ox, My Ass, My Any Thing.

His Worst Fault Is, He's Given To Prayer; He Is Something Peevish That Way.

However Wickedness Outstrips Men, It Has No Wings To Fly From God.

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

Not All The Water In The Rough Rude Sea Can Wash The Balm From An Anointed King.