'tis Virtue, And Not Birth That Makes

Corruption Is A Tree, Whose Branches Are Of An Immeasurable Length: They Spread Ev'rywhere; And The Dew That Drops From Thence Hath Infected Some Chairs And Stools Of Authority.

Great Actions Speak Great Minds.

Man Is His Own Star, And The Soul That Can Render An Honest And A Perfect Man, Commands All Light.

Death Hath So Many Doors To Let Out Life.

Joys As Winged Dreams Fly Fast, / Why Should Sadness Longer Last? / Grief Is But A Wound To Woe; / Gentlest Fair, Mourn, Mourn No Moe.