Modest Wisdom Plucks Me From Over-credulous Haste.

Corruption Wins Not More Than Honesty. Still In Thy Right Hand Carry Gentle Peace, To Silence Envious Tongues.

I Must Have Liberty Withal, As Large A Charter As The Wind, To Blow On Whom I Please, For So Fools Have.

How Many Things By Season Seasoned Are To Their Right Praise And True Perfection!

By The Pricking Of My Thumbs, Something Wicked This Way Comes.

Men Judge By The Complexion Of The Sky The State And Inclination Of The Day.