Adversity Makes Strange Bedfellows.

It Is The Mind That Makes The Body Rich; And As The Sun Breaks Through The Darkest Clouds, So Honor Peereth In The Meanest Habit.

I Am Not Only Witty In Myself, But The Cause That Wit Is In Other Men.

Give Sorrow Words; The Grief That Does Not Speak Knits Up The O-er Wrought Heart And Bids It Break.

He Was Too Good To Be Where Ill Men Were, And Was The Best Of All Amongst The Rar'st Of Good Ones- Sitting Sadly Hearing Us Praise Our Loves Of Italy For Beauty That Made Barren The Swell'd Boast Of Him That Best Could Speak; For Feature, Laming The Shrine Of Venus Or Straight-pight Minerva, Postures Beyond Brief Nature; For Condition, A Shop Of All The Qualities That Man Loves Woman For; Besides That Hook Of Wiving, Fairness Which Strikes The Eye- Cymbeline.

[thine] Face Is Not Worth Sunburning.