Your Tale, Sir, Would Cure Deafness.

A Knavish Speech Sleeps In A Fool's Ear.

Did He So Often Lodge In Open Field, In Winter's Cold And Summer's Parching Heat, To Conquer France, His True Inheritance?

There's Nothing Ill Can Dwell In Such A Temple. If The Ill Spirit Have So Fair A House, Good Things Will Strive To Dwell With't

If We Are True To Ourselves, We Can Not Be False To Anyone.

The Attempt And Not The Deed Confounds Us.