For He That Once Is

True Gladness Doth Not Always Speak; Joy, Bred And Born But In The Tongue, Is Weak.

O, For An Engine, To Keep Back All Clocks, Or Make The Sun Forget His Motion!

Man And Wife Make One Fool.

[the Play] Is Like To Be A Very Conceited Scurvy One, In Plain English.

Force Works On Servile Natures, Not The Free.