How Ill White Hairs Become A Fool

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presagers Of My Speaking Breast, Who Plead For Love, And Look For Recompense, More Than That Tongue That More Hath More Expressed.

For He Was Likely, Had He Been Put On, To Have Proved Most Royally.

The Horn, The Horn, The Lusty Horn Is Not A Thing To Laugh To Scorn.

Ingratitude Is Monstrous.

Let's Go Hand In Hand, Not One Before Another.