The Doubt Of Future Foes Exiles My

Words Are Leaves, The Substance Consists Of Deeds, Which Are The True Fruits Of A Good Tree.

[to Edward De Vere, Earl Of Oxford, On His Return From Self-imposed Exile, Occasioned By The Embarrassing Flatulence He Had Experienced In The Presence Of The Queen:] My Lord, I Had Forgot The Fart.

For, What Is A Family Without A Steward, A Ship Without A Pilot, A Flock Without A Shepherd, A Body Without A Head, The Same, I Think, Is A Kingdom Without The Health And Safety Of A Good Monarch.

Where Might Is Mixed With Wit, There Is Too Good An Accord In A Government.

[i]n The End This Shall Be For Me Sufficient, That A Marble Stone Shall Declare That A Queen, Having Reigned Such A Time, Lived And Died A Virgin.