All Pity Choked With Custom

Tis An Ill Cook That Cannot Lick His Own Fingers.

And I Will Make It Felony To Drink Small Beer.

A Heavier Task Could Not Have Been Impos'd, Than I To Speak My Griefs Unspeakable.

Hear Me Profess Sincerely: Had I A Dozen Sons, Each In My Love Alike, And None Less Dear Than Thine And My Good Marcius, I Had Rather Have Eleven Die Nobly For Their Country Than One Voluptuously Surfeit Out Of Action.

Like Patience Gazing On Kings' Graves, And Smiling Extremity Out Of Act.