It Is Lost At Dice,

The Silence Often Of Pure Innocence Persuades When Speaking Fails.

O Gentlemen, The Time Of Life Is Short! To Spend That Shortness Basely Were Too Long, If Life Did Ride Upon A Dial's Point, Still Ending At The Arrival Of An Hour.

I Am Not Yet Of Percy's Mind, The Hotspur Of The North; He That Kills Me Some Six Or Seven Dozen Of Scots As A Breakfast, Washes His Hands, And Says To His Wife, 'fie Upon This Quiet Life! I Want Work.

I Am Not Only Witty In Myself, But The Cause That Wit Is In Other Men.

I Am A Great Eater Of Beef, And I Believe That Does Harm To My Wit.