What's To Come Is Still Unsure: In

Study Is Like The Heaven's Glorious Sun, That Will Not Be Deep-searched With Saucy Looks: Small Have Continual Plodders Ever Won, Save Base Authority From Others' Books.

But O, How Bitter A Thing It Is To Look Into Happiness Through Another Man's Eyes.

The Tongues Of Mocking Wenches Are As Keen As Is The Razor's Edge Invisible.

Rest You Fair, Good Signior; Your Worship Was The Last Man In Our Mouths.

I Wish My Horse Had The Speed Of Your Tongue.