Nor Use Too Swelling, Or Ill-sounded Words

There Is No Doctrine Will Do Good Where Nature Is Wanting.

Fear To Do Base, Unworthy Things Is Valor; If They Be One To Us, To Suffer Them Is Valor Too.

Out Of Clothes Out Of Countenance, Out Of Countenance Out Of Wit.

A Prince Without Letters Is A Pilot Without Eyes. All His Government Is Groping.

A New Disease? I Know Not, New Or Old, But It May Well Be Called Poor Mortals Plague For, Like A Pestilence, It Doth Infect The Houses Of The Brain Till Not A Thought, Or Motion, In The Mind, Be Free From The Black Poison Of Suspect.