Mirth Cannot Move A Soul In Agony.

You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!

In Law, What Plea So Tainted And Corrupts, But Being Seasoned With A Gracious Voice Obscures The Show Of Evil.

And He Goes Through Life, His Mouth Open, And His Mind Closed.

Great Men Should Drink With Harness On Their Throats.

Sufferance Is The Badge Of All Our Tribe.