Men Have Marble, Women Waxen, Minds.

What: Is The Jay More Precious Than The Lark Because His Feathers Are More Beautiful?

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension, And The Poor Beetle, That We Tread Upon, In Corporal Sufferance Finds A Pang As Great As When A Giant Dies.

Headstrong Liberty Is Lashed With Woe.

A Hit, A Very Palpable Hit.

The Soul Of This Man Is His Clothes.