He's Truly Valiant That Can Wisely Suffer

While We Lie Tumbling In The Hay.

The Crow Doth Sing As Sweetly As The Lark When Neither Is Attended; And I Think The Nightingale, If She Should Sing By Day When Every Goose Is Cackling, Would Be Thought No Better A Musician Than The Wren. How Many Thing By Season Seasoned Are To Their Right Praise And True Perfection!

Nay, Had I Pow'r, I Should Pour The Sweet Milk Of Concord Into Hell, Uproar The Universal Peace, Confound All Unity On Earth.

Of All Knowledge The Wise And Good Seek Most To Know Themselves.

Thy Wit Is A Very Bitter Sweeting; It Is A Most Sharp Sauce.