The Morning Steals Upon The

Justice Always Whirls In Equal Measure.

The Gray-eyed Morn Smiles On The Frowning Night, Checkering The Eastern Clouds With Streaks Of Light.

Silence Is Only Commendable In A Neat's Tongue Dried, And A Maid Not Vendible.

The King Hath Note Of All That They Intend, By Interception Which They Dream Not Of.

All Things That Are, Are With More Spirit Chased Than Enjoyed.