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Though I Am Young, And Cannot Tell Either What Death Or Love Is Well, Yet I Have Heard They Both Bear Darts, And Both Do Aim At Human Hearts. And Then Again, I Have Been Told Love Wounds With Heat, As Death With Cold; So That I Fear They Do But Bring Extremes To Touch, And Mean One Thing. As In A Ruin We It Call One Thing To Be Blown Up, Or Fall; Or To Our End Like Way May Have By A Flash Of Lightning, Or A Wave; So Love’s Inflamèd Shaft Or Brand May Kill As Soon As Death’s Cold Hand; Except Love’s Fires The Virtue Have To Fight The Frost Out Of The Grave.

-Ben Jonson

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Though I Am Young,

Ben Jonson

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Though I Am Young, And Cannot Tell Either What Death Or Love Is Well, Yet I Have Heard They Both Bear Darts, And Both Do Aim At Human Hearts. And Then Again, I Have Been Told Love Wounds With Heat, As Death With Cold; So That I Fear They Do But Bring Extremes To Touch, And Mean One Thing. As In A Ruin We It Call One Thing To Be Blown Up, Or Fall; Or To Our End Like Way May Have By A Flash Of Lightning, Or A Wave; So Love’s Inflamèd Shaft Or Brand May Kill As Soon As Death’s Cold Hand; Except Love’s Fires The Virtue Have To Fight The Frost Out Of The Grave.

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Reader Look, Not On His Picture But His Book.

Language Most Shows A Man, Speak That I May See Thee.

Fortune, Thou Hadst No Deity, If Men Had Wisdom.

He Was Not Of An Age, But For All Time!

Hell Itself Must Yield To Industry.

He Threatens Many That Hath Injured One.

A Lily Of A Day Is Fairer Far In May, Although It Fall And Die That Night, It Was The Plant And Flower Of Light. In Small Proportions We Just Beauties See, And In Short Measures Life May Perfect Be.

And Where She Went, The Flowers Took Thickest Root, As She Had Sow'd Them With Her Odorous Foot.

Opinion Is A Light, Vain, Crude, And Imperfect Thing.

Imperfect Things

Very Few Men Are Wise By Their Own Council, Or Learned By Their Own Teaching. For He That Was Only Taught By Himself, Had A Fool For A Master.

God Wisheth None Should Wreck On A Strange Shelf: To Him Man's Dearer Than To Himself.

Fear To Do Base, Unworthy Things Is Valor; If They Be One To Us, To Suffer Them Is Valor Too.

Many Might Go To Heaven With Half The Labour They Go To Hell, If They Would Venture Their Industry The Right Way.

Money Never Made Any Man Rich, But His Mind. He That Can Order Himself To The Law Of Nature, Is Not Only Without The Sense, But The Fear Of Poverty.

Great Honours Are Great Burdens, But On Whom They Are Cast With Envy, He Doth Bear Two Loads.

Fortune, That Favors Fools.

Confound These Ancestors... They've Stolen Our Best Ideas!

Hang Sorrow, Care'll Kill A Cat.

Rich Apparel Has Strange Virtues; It Makes Him That Hath It Without Means Esteemed For An Excellent Wit; He That Enjoys It With Means Puts The World In Remembrance Of His Means.

Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes, And I Will Pledge With Mine; Or Leave A Kiss But In The Cup And I'll Not Look For Wine.

... The Best Pilots Have Need Of Mariners, Besides Sails, Anchor And Other Tackle.

A Prince Without Letters Is A Pilot Without Eyes. All His Government Is Groping.

Sweet Swan Of Avon! What A Sight It Were To See Thee In Our Water Yet Appear.

Tis No Sin Love's Fruits To Steal; But The Sweet Thefts To Reveal; To Be Taken, To Be Seen, These Have Crimes Accounted Been.

Well, I Will Scourge Those Apes, And To These Courteous Eyes Oppose A Mirror, As Large As Is The Stage Whereon We Act; Where They Shall See The Time's Deformity Anatomised In Every Nerve, And Sinew, With Constant Courage, And Contempt Of Fear.

A Good Life Is A Main Argument.

Inspirational Life

All Concord's Born Of Contraries.

They, Who Know No Evil, Will Suspect None.

Follow A Shadow, It Still Flies You, Seem To Fly, It Will Pursue: So Court A Mistress, She Denies You; Let Her Alone, She Will Court You. Say Are Not Women Truly, Then, Styled But The Shadows Of Us Men?

The Dignity Of Truth Is Lost With Much Protesting.

Heaven Prepares Good Men With Crosses; But No Ill Can Happen To A Good Man.

Ambition, Like A Torrent, Ne'er Looks Back; And Is A Swelling, And The Last Affection A High Mind Can Put Off; Being Both A Rebel Unto The Soul And Reason, And Enforceth All Laws, All Conscience, Treads Upon Religion, And Offereth Violence To Nature's Self.

Were Guilt Is, Rage And Courage Doth Abound.

Who Will Not Judge Him Worthy To Be Robbed That Sets His Doors Wide Open To A Thief, And Shows The Felon Where His Treasure Lies?

Words Borrowed Of Antiquity Do Lend A Kind Of Majesty To Style, And Are Not Without Their Delight Sometimes. For They Have The Authority Of Years, And Out Of Their Intermission Do Win To Themselves A Kind Of Grace-like Newness. But The Eldest Of The Present, And Newest Of The Past Language, Is The Best.

Freedom Doth With Degree Dispense.

I Am Beholden To Calumny, That She Hath So Endeavored To Belie Me.-it Shall Make Me Set A Surer Guard On Myself, And Keep A Better Watch Upon My Actions.

Let Argument Bear No Unmusical Sound.

Good Men But See Death, The Wicked Taste It.

It Strikes! One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six. Enough, Enough, Dear Watch, Thy Pulse Hath Beat Enough. Now Sleep And Rest; Would Thou Could'st Make The Time To Do So Too; I'll Wind Thee Up No More.

True Happiness Consists Not In The Multitude Of Friends, But In The Worth And Choice.

When A Virtuous Man Is Raised, It Brings Gladness To His Friends, Grief To His Enemies, And Glory To His Posterity.

I Glory, More In The Cunning Purchase Of My Wealth Than In The Glad Possession.

I Have No Urns, No Dusty Monuments; No Broken Images Of Ancestors, Wanting An Ear, Or Nose; No Forged Tales Of Long Descents, To Boast False Honors From.

Weigh The Meaning And Look Not At The Words.

A Good Dog Deserves A Good Bone.

The Devil Is An Ass , I Do Acknowledge It.

Doing, A Filthy Pleasure Is, And Short; And Done, We Straight Repent Us Of The Sport: Let Us Not Rush Blindly On Unto It, Like Lustful Beasts, That Only Know To Do It: For Lust Will Languish, And That Heat Decay, But Thus, Thus, Keeping Endless Holy-.

The Burnt Child Dreads The Fire.

Force Works On Servile Natures, Not The Free.

To The Old, Long Life And Treasure; To The Young, All Health And Pleasure.

Nor Use Too Swelling, Or Ill-sounded Words . . . .

There Is No Doctrine Will Do Good Where Nature Is Wanting.

I Feel My Griefs Too, And There Scarce Is Ground Upon My Flesh T'inflict Another Wound. Yet Dare I Not Complain, Or Wish For Death With Holy Paul; Lest It Be Thought The Breath Of Discontent; Or That These Prayers Be For Weariness Of Life, Not Love Of Thee.

No Man Is So Foolish But May Give Another Good Counsel Sometimes; And No Man Is So Wise, But May Easily Err, If He Will Take No Others Counsel But His Own. But Very Few Men Are Wise By Their Own Counsel; Or Learned By Their Own Teaching. For He That Was Only Taught By Himself Had A Fool To His Master.

Books Are Faithful Repositories, Which May Be Awhile Neglected Or Forgotten, But When They Are Opened Again, Will Again Impart Their Instruction.

Good Men Are The Stars, The Planets Of The Ages Wherein They Live, And Illustrate The Times.

Passions Are Spiritual Rebels And Raise Sedition Against The Understanding.

Language Most Shows A Man; Speak That I May See Thee; It Springs Out Of The Most Retired And Inmost Parts Of Us, And Is The Image Of The Parent Of It, The Mind. No Glass Renders A Man's Form Or Likeness So True As His Speech.

Soul Of The Age! The Applause, Delight, The Wonder Of Our Stage! My Shakespeare , Rise; I Will Not Lodge Thee By Chaucer Or Spenser , Or Bid Beaumont Lie A Little Further, To Make Thee A Room; Thou Art A Monument, Without A Tomb, And Art Alive Still, While Thy Book Doth Live, And We Have Wits To Read , And Praise To Give .

Well, As He Brews, So Shall He Drink.

How Near To Good Is What Is Fair!

I Remember, The Players Have Often Mentioned It As An Honour To Shakespeare, That In His Writing (whatsoever He Penned) He Never Plotted Out A Line. My Answer Hath Been, Would He Had Blotted A Thousand.

Custom Is The Most Certain Mistress Of Language, As The Public Stamp Makes The Current Money.

The World Knows Only Two, That's Rome And I.

A Good Poet's Made As Well As Born.

I'll Give Anything For A Good Copy Now, Be It True Or False, So It Be News.

It Is The Highest Of Earthly Honors To Be Descended From The Great And Good. They Alone Cry Out Against A Noble Ancestry Who Have None Of Their Own.

Indeed There's A Woundy Luck In Names.

The Pipe Marks The Point At Which The Orangutan Ends And Man Begins.

Poets Are Far Rarer Birds Than Kings.

The Man That Is Once Hated, Both His Good And His Evil Deeds Oppress Him.

Come, My Celia, Let Us Prove, While We Can, The Sports Of Love, Time Will Not Be Ours For Ever, He, At Length, Our Good Will Sever; Spend Not Then His Gifts In Vain: Suns That Set May Rise Again; But If Once We Lose This Light, 'tis With Us Perpetual Night. Why Should We Defer Our Joys? Fame And Rumour Are But Toys.

Man And Wife Make One Fool.

Ods Me I Marle What Pleasure Or Felicity They Have In Taking Their Roguish Tobacco. It Is Good For Nothing But To Choke A Man, And Fill Him Full Of Smoke And Embers.

Cigarette Smoke

Of All Wild Beasts Preserve Me From A Tyrant; And Of All Tame A Flatterer.

Your Highest Female Grace Is Silence.

Our Whole Life Is Like A Play.

Tis The Common Disease Of All Your Musicians That They Know No Mean, To Be Entreated, Either To Begin Or End.

Where Dost Thou Careless Lie, Buried In Ease And Sloth? Knowledge That Sleeps, Doth Die; And This Security, It Is The Common Moth, That Eats On Wits And Arts, And Oft Destroys Them Both.

Nothing Is A Courtesy Unless It Be Meant Us, And That Friendly And Lovingly. We Owe No Thanks To Rivers That They Carry Our Boats, Or Winds That They Be Favoring And Fill Our Sails, Or Meats That They Be Nourishing; For These Are What They Are Necessarily. Horses Carry Us, Trees Shade Us; But They Know It Not.

Spread Yourself Upon His Bosom Publicly, Whose Heart You Would Eat In Private.

Give Me A Look, Give Me A Face, That Makes Simplicity A Grace Robes Loosely Flowing, Hair As Free Such Sweet Neglect More Taketh Me Than All The Adulteries Of Art: They Strike Mine Eyes, But Not My Heart.

He That Is Respectless In His Courses Oft Sells His Reputation At Cheap Market.

It Is Virtue That Gives Glory; That Will Endenizen A Man Everywhere.

Still To Be Neat, Still To Be Drest, As You Were Going To A Feast, Still To Be Powder'd, All Perfum'd. Lady, It Is To Be Presumed, Though Art's Hid Causes Are Not Found, All Is Not Sweet, All Is Not Sound.

Soul Of The Age! The Applause! Delight! The Wonder Of Our Stage!

I Do Honor The Very Flea Of His Dog.

He Who Is Taught Only By Himself Has A Fool For A Master.

I Have Discovered That A Famed Familiarity In Great Ones Is A Note Of Certain Usurpation On The Less; For Great And Popular Men Feign Themselves To Be Servants To Others To Make Those Slaves To Them.

What Excellent Fools Religion Makes Of Men.

Cut Men's Throats With Whisperings.

Get Money, Still Get Money, Boy, No Matter By What Means.

Guilt's A Terrible Thing.

Terrible Things

The Covetous Man Never Has Money. The Prodigal Will Have None Shortly.

I Perceive Affection Makes A Fool Of Any Man Too Much The Father.

Silence In Woman Is Like Speech In Man.

A Thankful Man Owes A Courtesy Ever; The Unthankful But When He Needs It.

Wine It Is The Milk Of Venus, And The Poet's Horse Accounted: Ply It And You All Are Mounted.

Mischiefs Feed / Like Beasts, Till They Be Fat, And Then They Bleed.

Folly Often Goes Beyond Her Bounds, But Impudence Knows None.

A New Disease? I Know Not, New Or Old, But It May Well Be Called Poor Mortals Plague For, Like A Pestilence, It Doth Infect The Houses Of The Brain Till Not A Thought, Or Motion, In The Mind, Be Free From The Black Poison Of Suspect.

Nothing Is More Short-lived Than Pride.

If You Succeed Not, Cast Not Away The Quills Yet, Nor Scratch The Wainscot, Beat Not The Poor Desk, But Bring All To The Forge And File Again; Turn It New.

[the Play] Is Like To Be A Very Conceited Scurvy One, In Plain English.

Ambition Makes More Trusty Slaves Than Need

For Whose Sake, Henceforth, All His Vows Be Such, As What He Loves May Never Like Too Much.

That I Might Live Alone Once With My Gold! O, 'tis A Sweet Companion! Kind And True: A Man May Trust It When His Father Cheats Him, Brother, Or Friend, Or Wife. O Wondrous Pelf! That Which Makes All Men False, Is True Itself.

Ambition, Like A Torrent, Never Looks Back.

Cares That Have Entered Once In The Breast, Will Have Whole Possession Of The Rest.

Tell Troth And Shame The Devil.

Princes That Would Their People Should Do Well Must At Themselves Begin, As At The Head; For Men, By Their Example, Pattern Out Their Limitations, And Regard Of Laws: A Virtuous Court A World To Virtue Draws.

Still May Syllables Jar With Time, Still May Reason War With Rhyme, Resting Never!

If I Freely May Discover What Should Please Me In My Lover, I Would Have Her Fair And Witty, Savouring More Of Court Than City; A Little Proud, But Full Of Pity; Light And Humorous In Her Toying, Oft Building Hopes, And Soon Destroying, Long, But Sweet In The Enjoying; Neither Too Easy Nor To Hard; All Extremes I Would Have Barr'd.

My Thoughts And I Were Of Another World.

Truth Is Man's Proper Good, And The Only Immortal Thing Was Given To Our Mortality To Use.

The Day For Whose Returns, And Many, All These Pray; And So Do I.

I Have Been At My Book; And Am Now Past The Craggy Paths Of Study, And Come To The Flowery Plains Of Honour And Reputation

Popular Men, They Must Create Strange Monsters, And Then Quell Them, To Make Their Arts Seem Something.

Court A Mistress, She Denies You; Let Her Alone, She Will Court You.

It Is Less Dishonor To Hear Imperfectly Than To Speak Imperfectly. The Ears Are Excused; The Understanding Is Not.

A Good King Is A Public Servant.

Peace Is Never More Than One Thought Away.

A Good Man Should And Must Sit Rather Down With Loss Than Rise Unjust.

All The Wise World Is Little Else, In Nature, But Parasites Or Subparasites.

Nor For My Peace Will I Go Far, As Wanderers Do, That Still Do Roam, But Make My Strengths, Such As They Are, Here In My Bosom, And At Home.

All Discourses But My Own Afflict Me; They Seem Harsh, Impertinent, And Irksome

Aristotle Was The First Accurate Critic And Truest Judge Nay, The Greatest Philosopher The World Ever Had; For He Noted The Vices Of All Knowledges, In All Creatures, And Out Of Many Men's Perfections In A Science He Formed Still One Art.

Out Of Clothes Out Of Countenance, Out Of Countenance Out Of Wit.

Woman, The More Careful She Is About Her Face, The More Careless About Her House.

Thy Praise Or Dispraise Is To Me Alike; One Doth Not Stroke Me, Nor The Other Strike.

If All You Boast Of Your Great Art Be True; Sure, Willing Poverty Lives Most In You.

You Learn Nothing About Someone By The Way They Win The Fight, You Learn Everything About The Way They Lose And Keep Coming Back.

Queen And Huntress, Chaste And Fair Now The Sun Is Laid To Sleep, Seated In Thy Silver Chair, State In Wonted Manner Keep: Hesperus Entreats Thy Light Goddess, Excellently Bright.

Now We Are All Fallen, Youth From Their Fear, And Age From That Which Bred It, Good Example.

There Is No Greater Hell Than To Be A Prisoner Of Fear.

Love That Is Ignorant And Hatred Have Almost The Same Ends.

The Way To Rise Is To Obey And Please.

As It Is A Great Point Of Art, When Our Matter Requires It, To Enlarge And Veer Out All Sail, So To Take It In And Contract It Is Of No Less Praise When The Argument Doth Ask It.

In The Hope To Meet Shortly Again, And Make Our Absence Sweet.

Tis Not The Wholesome Sharp Mortality, Or Modest Anger Of A Satiric Spirit, That Hurts Or Wounds The Body Of A State, But The Sinister Application Of The Malicious, Ignorant, And Base Interpreter; Who Will Distort And Strain The General Scope And Purpose Of An Author To His Particular And Private Spleen.

Men That Talk Of Their Own Benefits Are Not Believed To Talk Of Them Because They Have Done Them, But To Have Done Them Because They Might Talk Of Them.

To Men Pressed By Their Wants All Change Is Ever Welcome.

That Praises Are Without Reason Lavished On The Dead, And That The Honours Due Only To Are Paid To Antiquity, Is A Complaint Likely To Be Always Continued By Those Who, Being Able To Add Nothing To Truth, Hope For Eminence From The Heresies Of Paradox; Or Those Who, Being Forced By Disappointment Upon Consolatory Expedients, Are Willing To Hope From Posterity What The Present Age Refuses, And Flatter Themselves That The Regard Which Is Yet Denied By Envy Will Be At Last Bestowed By Time.

True Melancholy Breeds Your Perfect Fine Wit.

Art Hath An Enemy Call'd Ignorance .

I See Compassion May Become A Justice, Though It Be A Weakness, I Confess, And Nearer A Vice Than A Virtue.

The Two Chief Things That Give A Man Reputation In Counsel, Are The Opinion Of His Honesty, And The Opinion Of His Wisdom; The Authority Of Those Two Will Persuade.

It Is As Great A Spite To Be Praised In The Wrong Place, And By A Wrong Person, As Can Be Done To A Noble Nature.

It Is An Art To Have So Much Judgment As To Apparel A Lie Well, To Give It A Good Dressing.

He That Departs With His Own Honesty For Vulgar , Doth It Too Dearly Buy.

It Is A Note Of Upstart Greatness To Observe And Watch For These Poor Trifles, Which The Noble Mind Neglects And Scorns.

Success Produces Confidence; Confidence Relaxes Industry, And Negligence Ruins The Reputation Which Accuracy Had Raised.

Greatness Of Name, In The Father, Ofttimes Helps Not Forth, But Overwhelms The Son: They Stand Too Near One Another. The Shadow Kills The Growth.

The Poet Is The Nearest Borderer Upon The Orator.

O! How Vain And Vile A Passion Is This Fear! What Base Uncomely Things It Makes Men Do.

Where It Concerns Himself, Who's Angry At A Slander, Makes It True.

Sweet Meat Must Have Sour Sauce.

Who Casts To Write A Living Line, Must Sweat.

Minds That Are Great And Free, Should Not On Fortune Pause: 'tis Crown Enough To Virtue Still, Her Own Applause.

Each Petty Hand Can Steer A Ship Becalm'd; But He That Will Govern And Carry Her To Her Ends, Must Know His Tides, His Currents, How To Shift His Sails; What She Will Bear In Foul, What In Fair Weathers; Where Her Springs Are, Her Leaks, And How To Stop 'em; What Strands, What Shelves, What Rocks Do Threaten Her.

Ready Writing Makes Not Good Writing, But Good Writing Brings On Ready Writing.

Vice Is Like A Fury To The Vicious Mind, And Turns Delight Itself To Punishment.

Blueness Doth Express Trueness.

A Good Man Will Avoid The Spot Of Any Sin. The Very Aspersion Is Grievous, Which Makes Him Choose His Way In His Life, As He Would In His Journey.

Memory, Of All The Powers Of The Mind, Is The Most Delicate And Frail.

Honor's A Good Brooch To Wear In A Man's Hat At All Times.

For He That Once Is Good, Is Ever Great.

Many Punishments Sometimes, And In Some Cases, As Much Discredit A Prince As Many Funerals A Physician.

If Men Will Impartially, And Not Asquint, Look Toward The Offices And Function Of A Poet, They Will Easily Conclude To Themselves The Impossibility Of Any Man's Being A Good Poet Without First Being A Good Man.

How Fortune Piles Her Sports When She Begins To Practise Them!

You Are Not Now To Think What's Best To Do, As In Beginnings, But What Must Be Done, Being Thus Enter'd; And Slip No Advantage That May Secure You. Let Them Call It Mischief; When It Is Past, And Prosper'd , 'twill Be Virtue.

If You Be Sick, Your Own Thoughts Make You Sick

How Ready Is Heaven To Those That Pray!

I Now Think, Love Is Rather Deaf, Than Blind, For Else It Could Not Be, That She, Whom I Adore So Much, Should So Slight Me, And Cast My Love Behind.

Let Those That Merely Talk And Never Think, That Live In The Wild Anarchy Of Drink

No Man So Wise That He May Not Easily Err If He Takes No Other Counsel Than His Own. He That Is Taught Only By Himself Has A Fool For A Master.

The Voice So Sweet, The Words So Fair, As Some Soft Chime Had Stroked The Air; And Though The Sound Had Parted Thence, Still Left An Echo In The Sense.

True Gladness Doth Not Always Speak; Joy, Bred And Born But In The Tongue, Is Weak.

Success Hath Made Me Wanton.

We Are Persons Of Quality, I Assure You, And Women Of Fashion, And Come To See And To Be Seen.

There Is No Bounty To Be Showed To Such As Have Real Goodness: Bounty Is A Spice Of Virtue; And What Virtuous Act Can Take Effect On Them That Have No Power Of Equal Habitude To Apprehend It?

That Old Bald Cheater, Time.

I Know No Disease Of The Soul But Ignorance, A Pernicious Evil, The Darkener Of Man's Life, The Disturber Of His Reason, And Common Confounder Of Truth.

In Small Proportions We Just Beauties See; And In Short Measures, Life May Perfect Be.

Prevent Your Day At Morning.

One Woman Reads Another's Character Without The Tedious Trouble Of Deciphering

Poor Worms, They Hiss At Me, Whilst I At Home Can Be Contented To Applaud Myself, . . . With Joy To See How Plump My Bags Are And My Barns.

Forbear, You Things That Stand Upon The Pinnacles Of State, To Boast Your Slippery Height! When You Do Fall, You Dash Yourselves In Pieces, Ne'er To Rise: And He That Lends You Pity, Is Not Wise.

Though I Am Young, And Cannot Tell Either What Death Or Love Is Well, Yet I Have Heard They Both Bear Darts, And Both Do Aim At Human Hearts. And Then Again, I Have Been Told Love Wounds With Heat, As Death With Cold; So That I Fear They Do But Bring Extremes To Touch, And Mean One Thing. As In A Ruin We It Call One Thing To Be Blown Up, Or Fall; Or To Our End Like Way May Have By A Flash Of Lightning, Or A Wave; So Love’s Inflamèd Shaft Or Brand May Kill As Soon As Death’s Cold Hand; Except Love’s Fires The Virtue Have To Fight The Frost Out Of The Grave.

No Simple Word That Shall Be Uttered At Our Mirthful Board, Shall Make Us Sad Next Morning; Or Affright The Liberty That We'll Enjoy To-night.

No Glass Renders A Man's Form Or Likeness So True As His Speech.

Whom Hatred Frights, Let Him Not Dream Of Sovereignty.

Drink Today, And Drown All Sorrow; You Shall Perhaps Not Do It Tomorrow; Best, While You Have It, Use Your Breath; There Is No Drinking After Death.

Neither Do Thou Lust After That Tawny Weed Tobacco.

To Struggle When Hope Is Banished! To Live When Life's Salt Is Gone! To Dwell In A Dream That's Vanished- To Endure, And Go Calmly On!

Calumnies Are Answered Best With Silence.

Affliction Teacheth A Wicked Person Sometime To Pray; Prosperity Never.

It Holds For Good Polity Ever, To Have That Outwardly In Vilest Estimation, Which Inwardly Is Most Dear To Us.

Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once Posses-seth, He Can Never Hold His Peace.

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