The Sweat Of Industry Would Dry And

Britain Is A World By Itself, And We Will Nothing Pay For Wearing Our Own Noses.

I Prithee Gentle Friend, Let Thy Fair Wisdom, Not Thy Passions, Sway In This Uncivil And Unjust Extent Against Thy Peace.

God Grant Us Patience!

Know My Name Is Lost, By Treason's Tooth Bare-gnawn And Canker-bit; Yet Am I Noble As The Adversary I Come To Cope.

What's Past And What's To Come Is Strew'd With Husks And Formless Ruin Of Oblivion.