Who then to frail mortality shall trust

But limns on water, or but writes in dust.

The World.

What then remains but that we still should cry

For being born, and, being born, to die?[170:3]

The World.

For my name and memory, I leave it to men's charitable speeches, to foreign nations, and to the next ages.

From his Will.

My Lord St. Albans said that Nature did never put her precious jewels into a garret four stories high, and therefore that exceeding tall men had ever very empty heads.[170:4]

Apothegms. No. 17.