The Insolence Of Office.

The Hand That Hath Made You Fair Hath Made You Good. Pity Is The Virtue Of The Law, And None But Tyrants Use It Cruelly.

Were It My Cue To Fight, I Should Have Known It Without A Prompter.

Why, What Is Pomp, Rule, Reign, But Earth And Dust? And, Live We How We Can, Yet Die We Must.

Virtue And Genuine Graces In Themselves Speak What No Words Can Utter.

Who Soars Too Near The Sun, With Golden Wings, Melts Them.