Confess And Be Hanged.

What Are Kings, When Regiment Is Gone, But Perfect Shadows In A Sunshine Day?

Virtue Is The Fount Whence Honour Springs.

He Must Have A Long Spoon That Eats With The Devil.

Love Is Not Ful Of Pittie (as Men Say) But Deaffe And Cruell, Where He Meanes To Pray.

I Am Envy...i Cannot Read And Therefore Wish All Books Burned.