'tis Pride That Pulls The Country Down.

Waste Not Thy Time In Windy Argument But Let The Matter Drop.

If't Be Summer News, Smile To't Before; If Winterly, Thou Need'st But Keep That Count'nance Still.

The Setting Sun, And The Music At The Close, As The Last Taste Of Sweets, Is Sweetest Last, Writ In Rememberance More Than Long Things Past.

Out, Out, Brief Candle! Life's But A Walking Shadow.

Which Can Say More Than This Rich Praise, That You Alone Are You?