To Hold, As 't Were, The Mirror

Would It Not Grieve A Woman To Be Over-mastered By A Piece Of Valiant Dust? To Make An Account Of Her Life To A Clod Of Wayward Marle?

Robust Grass Endures Mighty Winds; Loyal Ministers Emerge Through Ordeal.

Though Age From Folly Could Not Give Me Freedom, It Does From Childishness.

He's All My Exercise, My Mirth, My Matter.

Our Enemies Are Our Outward Consciences.