Smooth Runs The Water Where The Brook

When Our Actions Do Not, Our Fears Make Us Traitors.

You Told A Lie, An Odious Damned Lie; Upon My Soul, A Lie, A Wicked Lie.

Obey Thy Parents, Keep Thy Word Justly; Swear Not; Commit Not With Man's Sworn Spouse; Set Not Thy Sweet Heart On Proud Array. * * * Keep Thy Foot Out Of Brothels, Thy Pen From Lenders' Books.

There Are A Sort Of Men, Whose Visages Do Cream And Mantle, Like A Standing Pond; And Do A Willful Stillness Entertain, With Purpose To Be Dressed In An Opinion Of Wisdom, Gravity Profound Conceit; As Who Should Say, I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark!

It Is Not In The Stars To Hold Our Destiny But In Ourselves.