Where The Greater Malady Is Fixed, The

Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It.

We All Are Men, In Our Own Natures Frail, And Capable Of Our Flesh; Few Are Angels.

Good Night, Good Night! Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow, That I Shall Say Good Night Till It Be Morrow.

We Have Seen Better Days.

Be Checked For Silence, But Never Taxed For Speech.