The Earth, That Is Nature's Mother, Is

The More Pity, That Fools May Not Speak Wisely What Wise Men Do Foolishly.

I Do Beseech You- Though I Perchance Am Vicious In My Guess , That Your Wisdom Yet From One That So Imperfectly Conjects Would Take No Notice, Nor Build Yourself A Trouble Out Of His Scattering And Unsure Observance.

Sound Trumpets! Let Our Bloody Colours Wave! And Either Victory, Or Else A Grave.

Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be!

We Wound Our Modesty And Make Foul The Clearness Of Our Deservings, When Of Ourselves We Publish Them.