I Will Not Be Sworn But Love

My Brain More Busy Than The Labouring Spider Weaves Tedious Snares To Trap Mine Enemies.

It Is Not Vain Glory For A Man And His Glass To Confer In His Own Chamber.

All That Glitters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told: Many A Man His Life Has Sold But My Outside To Behold: Gilded Tombs Do Worms Enfold Had You Been As Wise As Bold, Your In Limbs, In Judgment Old, Your Answer Had Not Been In'scroll'd Fare You Well: Your Suit Is Cold.' Cold, Indeed, And Labour Lost: Then, Farewell, Heat And Welcome, Frost!

I Am But Mad North-north-west. When The Wind Is Southerly, I Know A Hawk From A Handsaw.

Policy Sits Above Conscience.