A woman's at the core of every plot man plotteth Every failure is a step advanced Failures oft are but advising friends Like an ill-reared fruit, first at the core it rotteth More culpable the sparer than the spared Persist, if thou wouldst truly reach thine ends Too often hangs the house on one loose stone THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT, ALL [GM#11][GM11V10.TXT]4405 A woman's at the core of every plot man plotteth Arm'd with Fear the Foe finds passage to the vital part Delay in thine undertaking Is disaster of thy own making Every failure is a step advanced Failures oft are but advising friends Fear nought so much as Fear itself How little a thing serves Fortune's turn If thou wouldst fix remembrance--thwack! Lest thou commence to lie--be dumb! Like an ill-reared fruit, first at the core it rotteth More culpable the sparer than the spared No runner can outstrip his fate Nought credit but what outward orbs reveal Persist, if thou wouldst truly reach thine ends Ripe with oft telling and old is the tale The curse of sorrow is comparison! The king without his crown hath a forehead like the clown The overwise themselves hoodwink 'Tis the first step that makes a path Too often hangs the house on one loose stone Vanity maketh the strongest most weak When to loquacious fools with patience rare I listen Where fools are the fathers of every miracle Who in a labyrinth wandereth without clue ORDEAL RICHARD FEVEREL, V1 [GM#12][GM12V10.TXT]4406 A style of affable omnipotence about the wise youth After five years of marriage, and twelve of friendship Among boys there are laws of honour and chivalrous codes An edge to his smile that cuts much like a sneer Complacent languor of the wise youth Huntress with few scruples and the game unguarded It is no use trying to conceal anything from him It was his ill luck to have strong appetites and a weak stomach Minutes taken up by the grey puffs from their mouths No! Gentlemen don't fling stones; leave that to the blackguards Our new thoughts have thrilled dead bosoms Rogue on the tremble of detection Rumour for the nonce had a stronger spice of truth than usual She can make puddens and pies The born preacher we feel instinctively to be our foe There is for the mind but one grasp of happiness Those days of intellectual coxcombry Troublesome appendages of success Wisdom goes by majorities Woman will be the last thing civilized by Man ORDEAL RICHARD FEVEREL, V2 [GM#13][GM13V10.TXT]4407