How Ill White Hairs Become A Fool

If I Be Waspish, Best Beware My Sting.

All Pity Choked With Custom Of Fell Deeds.

Every Good Servant Does Not All Commands.

Women Being The Weaker Vessels, Are Ever Thrust To The Walls.

Milk-livered Man, That Bear'st A Cheek For Blows, A Head For Wrongs; Who Hast Not In Thy Brows An Eye Discerning Thine Honor From Thy Suffering; [that Not Know'st Fools Do Those Villains Pity Who Are Punished Ere They Have Done Their Mischief. Where's Thy Drum? France Spreads His Banners In Our Noiseless Land, With Plumed Helm Thy State Begins To Threat, Whilst Thou, A Moral Fool, Sits Still And Cries 'alack, Why Does He So?']