One Pain Is Lessened By Another's Anguish.

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.

Your Lordship, Though Not Clean Past Your Youth, Have Yet Some Smack Of Age In You, Some Relish Of The Saltiness Of Time.

It Is The Cowish Terror Of His Spirit That Dares Not Undertake; He'll Not Feel Wrongs Which Tie Him To An Answer.

This Fellow Pecks Up Wit, As Pigeons Peas; And Utters It Again When God Doth Please: He Is Wit's Pedler; And Retails His Wares.

Delay Leads Impotent And Snail-paced Beggary.