Bait The Hook Well. This Fish Will

For I Can Raise No Money By Vile Means. By Heaven, I Had Rather Coin My Heart, And Drop My Blood For Drachmas

The Language I Have Learnt These Forty Years, My Native English, Now I Must Forgo; And Now My Tongue's Use Is To Me No More Than An Unstringed Viol Or A Harp, Or Like A Cunning Instrument Cased Up Or, Being Open, Put Into His Hands That Knows No Touch To Tune The Harmony.

Virtue Itself Scapes Not Calumnious Strokes.

Men That Make Envy And Crooked Malice Nourishment, Dare Bite The Best.

Thy Wit Is A Very Bitter Sweeting; It Is A Most Sharp Sauce.