Let The Galled Jade Wince; Our Withers

The Sweat Of Industry Would Dry And Die, But For The End It Works To.

I Am As True As Truth's Simplicity, And Simpler Than The Infancy Of Truth.

You Have Witchcraft In Your Lips, There Is More Eloquence In A Sugar Touch Of Them Than In The Tongues Of The French Council; And They Should Sooner Persuade Harry Of England Than A General Petition Of Monarchs.

Give Thanks For What You Are Today And Go On Fighting For What You Gone Be Tomorrow

When Heaven Doth Weep, Doth Not The Earth O'erflow? If The Winds Rage, Doth Not The Sea Wax Mad, Threatening The Welkin With His Big-swoln Face? And Wilt Thou Have A Reason For This Coil? I Am The Sea; Hark, How Her Sighs Do Blow! She Is The Weeping Welkin, I The Earth: Then Must My Sea Be Moved With Her Sighs; Then Must My Earth With Her Continual Tears Become A Deluge, Overflow'd And Drown'd: For Why My Bowels Cannot Hide Her Woes, But Like A Drunkard Must I Vomit Them. Then Give Me Leave, For Losers Will Have Leave To Ease Their Stomachs With Their Bitter Tongues.