There Is Nothing In The World So

Anger Is Like A Full Hot Horse, Who Being Allowed His Way, Self-mettle Tires Him.

Well-apparel'd April On The Heel Of Limping Winter Treads.

If't Be Summer News, Smile To't Before; If Winterly, Thou Need'st But Keep That Count'nance Still.

Ring The Alarum-bell! Blow, Wind! Come, Wrack! At Least We'll Die With Harness On Our Back.

Hot And Hasty, Like A Scotch Jig.