How Low Am I, Thou Painted Maypole?

If't Be Summer News, Smile To't Before; If Winterly, Thou Need'st But Keep That Count'nance Still.

. . From This Moment The Very Firstlings Of My Heart Shall Be The Firstlings Of My Hand. And Even Now, To Crown My Thoughts With Acts, Be It Thought And Done.

Great Men Should Drink With Harness On Their Throats.

Every Subject's Duty Is The Kings, But Every Subject's Soul Is His Own.

Foul Whisperings Are Abroad