There Is Flattery In Friendship.

This Music Crept By Me Upon The Waters, Allaying Both Their Fury And My Passion With Its Sweet Air: Thence I Have Follow’d It.

Retire Me To My Milan, Where Every Third Thought Shall Be My Grave.

Better Three Hours Too Soon, Than One Hour To Late.

Tis Better Using France Than Trusting France; Let Us Be Back'd With God, And With The Seas, Which He Hath Given For Fence Impregnable, And With Their Helps Only Defend Ourselves; In Them, And In Ourselves, Our Safety Lies.

His Jest Will Savour But Of Shallow Wit, When Thousands Weep, More Than Did Laugh At It.