It Hurts Not The Tongue

The Most Peerless Piece Of Earth, I Think, That E' Er The Sun Shone Bright On.

A Goodly Portly Man, I' Faith, And A Corpulent; Of A Cheerful Look, A Pleasing Eye, And A Most Noble Carriage; And, As I Think, His Age Some Fifty, Or, By'r Lady, Inclining To Threescore; And Now I Remember Me, His Name Is Falstaff.

How Ill White Hairs Become A Fool And Jester!

Better Three Hours Too Soon Than A Minute Too Late.

I Would We Were All Of One Mind, And One Mind Good.