If Money Go Before, All Ways Do

O, Thou Hast Damnable Iteration; And Art, Indeed, Able To Corrupt A Saint.

Death Is My Son-in-law, Death Is My Heir.

I Do Know When The Blood Burns, How Prodigal The Soul Lends The Tongue Vows.

There Is No Such Sport As Sport By Sport O'erthrown.

Our Thoughts Are Ours, Their Ends None Of Our Own