O World, How Apt The Poor Are

With These Shreds They Vented Their Complainings, Which Being Answered And A Petition Granted Them, A Strange One, To Break The Heart Of Generosity, And Make Bold Power Look Pale, They Threw Their Caps As They Would Hang Them On The Horns O' Th' Moon, Shouting Their Emulation.

Nothing Is So Common As The Wish To Be Remarkable.(attributed To)

There Is A Devilish Mercy In The Judge, If You'll Implore It, That Will Free Your Life, But Fetter You Till Death.

Love Thrives Not In The Heart That Shadows Dreadeth

Let Me Not Live, After My Flame Lacks Oil, To Be The Snuff Of Younger Spirits.