She Shall Scant Show Well That Now

God Defend Me From That Welsh Fairy, Lest He Transform Me To A Piece Of Cheese!

A Poor Thing, Perhaps, But My Own.

Press Not A Falling Man Too Far; 'tis Virtue: His Faults Lie Open To The Laws; Let Them, Not You, Correct Him.

If I Shall Be Condemned Upon Surmises, All Proofs Sleeping Else But What Your Jealousies Awake, I Tell You 'tis Rigor And Not Law.

When A Gentlemen Is Disposed To Swear, It Is Not For Any Standers-by To Curtail His Oaths.