Lay Not That Flattering Unction To Your

Many A Man's Tongue Shakes Out His Master's Undoing.

Press Not A Falling Man Too Far; 'tis Virtue: His Faults Lie Open To The Laws; Let Them, Not You, Correct Him.

O, What Damned Minutes Tells He O'er Who Dotes, Yet Doubts, Suspects, Yet Fondly Loves!

O You Beast! I'll So Maul You And Your Toasting-iron, That You Shall Think The Devil Is Come From Hell.

Ambition, The Soldier's Virtue.