Rich Honesty Dwells Like A Miser, Sir,

To Be Furious, Is To Be Frighted Out Of Fear.

God's Will! My Liege, Would You And I Alone, Without More Help, Could Fight This Royal Battle!

A Fusty Nut With No Kernel.

If I Profane With My Unworthiest Hand This Holy Shrine, The Gentle Fine Is This: My Lips, Two Blushing Pilgrims, Ready Stand To Smooth That Rough Touch With A Tender Kiss.

That Is The Way To Lay The City Flat, To Bring The Roof To The Foundation, And Bury All, Which Yet Distinctly Ranges, In Heaps And Piles Of Ruin.