Never Anger Made Good Guard For Itself.

O World, World! Thus Is The Poor Agent Despised. O Traitors And Bawds, How Earnestly Are You Set A-work, And How Ill Requited! Why Should Our Endeavor Be So Loved, And The Performance So Loathed?

Conscience Is A Blushing, Shamefaced Spirit Than Mutinies In A Man's Bosom; It Fills One Full Of Obstacles.

Drink Down All Unkindness.

Delivers In Such Apt And Gracious Words That Aged Ears Play Truant At His Tales; And Younger Hearings Are Quite Ravished; So Sweet And Voluble Is His Discourse.

He That Wants Money, Means, And Content Is Without Three Good Friends.