To Whom God Will, There Be The

There Is A History In All Men's Lives, Figuring The Nature Of The Times Deceased, The Which Observed, A Man May Prophesy, With A Near Aim, Of The Main Chance Of Things As Yet Not Come To Life, Which In Their Seeds And Weak Beginnings Lie Intreasured.

My Love To Thee Is Sound, Sans Crack Or Flaw.

Every Cloud Engenders Not A Storm.

I Am Not Only Witty In Myself, But The Cause That Wit Is In Other Men.

O Faithless Coward! O Dishonest Wretch! Wilt Thou Be Made A Man Out Of My Vice?