Words Without Thoughts Never To Heaven Go.

Tis A Happy Thing To Be The Father Unto Many Sons.

I Had Rather Chop This Hand Off At A Blow, And With The Other Fling It At Thy Face.

But Whate'er I Am, Nor I Nor Any Man That But Man Is, With Nothing Shall Be Pleased 'til He Be Eased With Being Nothing.

Unquiet Meals Make Ill Digestions.

What A Pretty Thing Man Is When He Goes In His Doublet And Hose And Leaves Off His Wit!