But What Is Past My Help Is

Who Doubting Tyranny, And Fainting Under Fortune's False Lottery, Desperately Run To Death, For Dread Of Death; That Soul's Most Stout, That, Bearing All Mischance, Dares Last It Out.

Daisies Smell-less, Yet Most Quaint, And Sweet Thyme True, Primrose, First Born Child Of Ver, Merry Spring-time's Harbinger.

The Greatest Attribute Of Heaven Is Mercy.

As Men Do Walk A Mile, Women Should Talk An Hour, After Supper. 'tis Their Exercise.

As High As Heaven, As Deep As Hell.