Policy Sits Above Conscience.

Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May.

Tis Gold Which Buys Admittance--oft It Doth--yea, And Makes Diana's Rangers False Themselves, Yield Up This Deer To Th' Stand O' Th' Stealer: And 'tis Gold Which Makes The True Man Kill'd And Saves The Thief, Nay, Sometimes Hangs Both Thief And True Man.

Thus Did I Keep My Person Fresh And New, My Presence, Like A Robe Pontifical, Ne'er Seen But Wondered At, And So My State, Seldom But Sumptuous, Showed Like A Feast.

Go Wisely And Slowly. Those Who Rush Stumble And Fall.

And Sleep, That Sometime Shuts Up Sorrow's Eye, Steal Me Awhile From Mine Own Company.