O, Here Will I Set Up My

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent Made Glorious Summer By This Sun Of York; And All The Clouds That Lour'd Upon Our House In The Deep Bosom Of The Ocean Buried.

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

The Sun With One Eye Vieweth All The World.

Ambition, The Soldier's Virtue, Rather Makes Choice Of Loss, Than Gain Which Darkens Him.

But Pearls Are Fair; And The Old Saying Is: Black Men Are Pearls In Beauteous Ladies' Eyes.