But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
Some laborers have hard hands, and old sinners have brawny consciences.
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.
That when we live no more, We may live ever
Authority without wisdom is like a heavy ax without an edge -- fitter to bruise than polish.
To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings/Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun/For my mean Pen are too superior things.