'tis Better To Be Vile Than Vile

The Setting Sun, And The Music At The Close, As The Last Taste Of Sweets, Is Sweetest Last, Writ In Rememberance More Than Long Things Past.

No Legacy Is So Rich As Honesty.

Thou Hast Her, France; Let Her Be Thine, For We Have No Such Daughter, Nor Shall Ever See That Face Of Hers Again. Therefore Be Gone Without Our Grace, Our Love, Our Benison.

To Be Now A Sensible Man, By And By A Fool, And Presently A Beast!

Rest You Fair, Good Signior; Your Worship Was The Last Man In Our Mouths.