The Gray-eyed Morn Smiles On The Frowning

Treason And Murder Ever Kept Together, As Two Yoke-devils Sworn To Either's Purpose, Working So Grossly In A Natural Cause That Admiration Did Not Whoop At Them; But Thou, 'gainst All Proportion, Didst Bring In Wonder To Wait On Treason And On Murder; And Whatsoever Cunning Fiend It Was That Wrought Upon Thee So Preposterously Hath Got The Voice In Hell For Excellence.

'tis Better To Be Vile Than Vile Esteemed

All That Glitters Is Not Gold.

Where Shall We Three Meet Again In Thunder, Lightning, Or In Rain? When The Hurlyburly 's Done, When The Battle 's Lost And Won

Good Words Are Better Than Bad Strokes.