I Am A Feather For Each Wind

We That Are True Lovers Run Into Strange Capers; But As All Is Mortal In Nature, So Is All Nature In Love Mortal In Folly.

Flout 'em, And Scout 'em; And Scout 'em, And Flout 'em; / Thought Is Free.

If It Be True That Good Wine Needs No Bush, 'tis True That A Good Play Needs No Epilogue.

There's No More Faith In Thee Than In A Stewed Prune.

Here Comes A Man Of Comfort, Whose Advice Hath Often Stilled My Brawling Discontent.