The Tartness Of His Face Sours Ripe

These Cardinals Trifle With Me; I Abhor; This Dilatory Sloth And Tricks Of Rome.

We Are The Lords Of All Eternity

Your Lordship, Though Not Clean Past Your Youth, Have Yet Some Smack Of Age In You, Some Relish Of The Saltiness Of Time.

He Does Me Double Wrong That Wounds Me With The Flatteries Of His Tongue.

It Is Not Vain Glory For A Man And His Glass To Confer In His Own Chamber.