Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all.

When fate has allowed to any man more than one great gift, accident or necessity seems usually to contrive that one shall encumber and impede the other.

We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; Today will die tomorrow; Time stoops to no man's lure.

Faith speaks when hope is disassembled; faith lives when hope dies dead.

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.

Is not Precedent indeed a King of men? A Word from the Psalmist.

Time stoops to no man's lure.