When Rich Villains Have Need Of Poor

No Deeper Wrinkles Yet? Hath Sorrow Struck So Many Blows Upon This Face Of Mine And Made No Deeper Wounds?

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind Thou Art Not So Unkind, As Man's Ingratitude.

Modest Doubt Is Called The Beacon Of The Wise.

Confess Yourself To Heaven, Repent What's Past, Avoid What Is To Come, And Do Not Spread The Compost On The Weeds To Make Them Ranker.

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself, Nor Is Not Moved With Concord Of Sweet Sounds, Is Fit For Treasons, Stratagems And Spoils.