This Thought Is As A Death.

Verily, I Swear, It Is Better To Be Lowly Born, And Range With Humble Livers In Content, Than To Be Perked Up In A Glistering Grief, And Wear A Golden Sorrow.

Do All Men Kill The Things They Do Not Love?

Up And Down, Up And Down I Will Lead Them Up And Down I Am Feared In Field In Town Goblin, Lead Them Up And Down

They Do Not Abuse The King That Flatter Him. For Flattery Is The Bellows Blows Up Sin; The Thing The Which Is Flattered, But A Spark To Which That Blast Gives Heat And Stronger Glowing.

The Cheek Is Apter Than The Tongue To Tell An Errand.