It Is More Noble By Silence To

Of All The Paths [that] Lead To A Woman's Love Pity's The Straightest.

It Is A Word That's Quickly Spoken, Which Being Unrestrained, A Heart Is Broken

Who Doubting Tyranny, And Fainting Under Fortune's False Lottery, Desperately Run To Death, For Dread Of Death; That Soul's Most Stout, That, Bearing All Mischance, Dares Last It Out.

There Is A Method In Man's Wickedness; It Grows Up By Degrees.

Our Lives Are But Our Marches To The Grave.