All Offences Come From The Heart.

By My Soul I Swear, There Is No Power In The Tongue Of Man To Alter Me.

Beggar That I Am, I Am Even Poor In Thanks

We Make Ourselves Fools To Disport Ourselves And Spend Our Flatteries To Drink Those Men Upon Whose Age We Void It Up Again With Poisonous Spite And Envy.

Hung Be The Heavens With Black! Yield, Day, To Night!

Why, Who Cries Out On Pride That Can Therein Tax Any Private Party? Doth It Not Flow As Hugely As The Sea Till The Weary Very Means Do Ebb?