For The Poor Wren (the Most Diminutive

I Am Not In The Roll Of Common Men.

Every Why Hath A Wherefore.

But, Indeed, Words Are Very Rascals, Since Bonds [vows] Disgraced Them." Viola: "thy Reason, Man?" Feste: "troth [truthfully], Sir, I Can Yield You None Without Words, And Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loathe To Prove Reason With Them.

When The Age Is In, The Wit Is Out

Determine On Some Course More Than A Wild Exposure To Each Chance.