O Sleep! O Gentle Sleep! Nature's Soft

How Much An Ill Word May Empoison Liking!

Sin Will Pluck On Sin.

Make Use Of Time, Let Not Advantage Slip; Beauty Within Itself Should Not Be Wasted: Fair Flowers That Are Not Gather'd In Their Prime Rot And Consume Themselves In Little Time.

When Law Can Do No Right, Let It Be Lawful That Law Bar No Wrong.

My Dear, Dear Lord, The Purest Treasure Mortal Times Afford Is Spotless Reputation; That Away Men Are But Gilded Loan Or Painted Clay... Mine Honor Is My Life; Both Grow In One; Take Honor From Me, And My Life Is Done.