'twas Merry When You Wagered On Your

I'll Be Damned For Never A King's Son In Christendom.

Care Is No Cure, But Rather Corrosive, For Things That Are Not To Be Remedied.

In Struggling With Misfortunes Lies The True Proof Of Virtue.

Because I Cannot Flatter And Look Fair, Smile In Men's Faces, Smooth, Deceive, And Cog, Duck With French Nods And Apish Courtesy, I Must Be Held A Rancorous Enemy.

Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor