There's A Time For All Things.

Dissembling Courtesy! How Fine This Tyrant Can Trickle When She Wounds!

How Long A Time Lies In One Little Word?

The Third Day Comes A Frost, A Killing Frost.

But As The Unthought-on Accident Is Guilty To What We Wildly Do, So We Profess Ourselves To Be The Slaves Of Chance, And Flies Of Every Wind That Blows.

Why, Look You, I Am Whipp'd And Scourg'd With Rods, Nettled And Stung With Pismires[nettles], When I Hear Of This Vile Politician, Bolingbroke.