A Man Can Die But Once.

Learning Is But An Adjunct To Ourself, And Where We Are Our Learning Likewise Is.

But Earthlier Happy Is The Rose Distill'd Than That Which Withering On The Virgin Thorn Grows, Lives, And Dies In Single Blessedness.

To Saucy Doubts And Fears.

[s]ince Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit, And Tediousness The Limbs And Outward Flourishes, I Will Be Brief.

Your Praises Will Become Your Wages.