O For A Horse With Wings!

One Good Deed Dying Tongueless Slaughters A Thousand Waiting Upon That. Our Praises Are Our Wages.

A Breath Thou Art, Servile To All The Skyey Influences.

A Goodly Portly Man, I' Faith, And A Corpulent; Of A Cheerful Look, A Pleasing Eye, And A Most Noble Carriage; And, As I Think, His Age Some Fifty, Or, By'r Lady, Inclining To Threescore; And Now I Remember Me, His Name Is Falstaff.

Nothing 'gainst Times Scythe Can Make Defence.

How Can Tyrants Safely Govern Home, Unless Abroad They Purchase Great Alliance.