What A Terrible Era In

Give Every Man Thine Ear, But Few Thy Voice; Take Each Man's Censure, But Reserve Thy Judgment.

How Use Doth Breed A Habit In A Man.

When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought I Summon Up Remembrance Of Things Past, I Sigh The Lack Of Many A Thing I Sought.

I Will Not Be Sworn But Love May Transform Me To An Oyster; But I'll Take My Oath On It, Till He Have Made An Oyster Of Me He Shall Never Make Me Such A Fool.

Foolery, Sir, Does Walk About The Orb Like The Sun; It Shines Everywhere.