The Latter End Of A Fray, And

To Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores.

I Had Rather Live With Cheese And Garlic In A Windmill.

The Happiest Youth, Viewing His Progress Through, What Perils Past, What Crosses To Ensue, Would Shut The Book, And Sit Him Down And Die.

I Love Him For His Sake; And Yet I Know Him A Notorious Liar, Think Him A Great Way Fool, Solely A Coward; Yet These Fix'd Evils Sit So Fit In Him That They Take Place When Virtue's Steely Bones Looks Bleak I' Th' Cold Wind; Withal, Full Oft We See Cold Wisdom Waiting On Superfluous Folly.

Thou Call'st Me Dog Before Thou Hadst A Cause, But Since I Am A Dog, Beware My Fangs.