I Have Unclasp'd To Thee The Book

Though Music Oft Hath Such A Charm To Make Bad Good, And Good Provoke To Harm.

Roses Have Thorns, And Silver Fountains Mud; Clouds And Eclipses Stain Both Moon And Sun, And Loathsome Canker Lies In Sweetest Bud. All Men Make Faults.

Glory Is Like A Circle In The Water

A Young Man Married Is A Man That's Marred.

I'll Be Supposed Upon A Book, His Face Is The Worst Thing About Him.