Though Age From Folly Could

Heaven Truly Knows That Thou Art False As Hell.

Away! Thou'rt Poison To My Blood.

Patience Is Sottish, And Impatience Does Become A Dog That's Mad.

The Southern Wind Doth Play The Trumpet To His Purposes; And, By His Hollow Whistling In The Leaves, Foretells A Tempest And A Blustering Day.

A Gentleman That Loves To Hear Himself Talk, Will Speak More In A Minute Than He Will Stand To In A Month.