Every True Man's Apparel Fits Your Thief.

Fear No More The Heat O' Th' Sun Nor The Furious Winters' Rages; Thou Thy Worldly Task Hast Done, Home Art Gone, And Ta'en Thy Wages. Golden Lads And Girls All Must, As Chimney-sweepers, Come To Dust.

He's Of The Colour Of The Nutmeg. And Of The Heat Of The Ginger.... He Is Pure Air And Fire; And The Dull Elements Of Earth And Water Never Appear In Him, But Only In Patient Stillness While His Rider Mounts Him; He Is Indeed A Horse, And All Other Jades You May Call Beasts.

Doubt Is A Thief That Often Makes Us Fear To Tread Where We Might Have Won.

Murder Most Foul, As In The Best It It; But This Most Foul, Strange, And Unnatural.

It Was Always Yet The Trick Of Our English Nation, If They Have A Good Thing, To Make It Too Common.