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Make Me A Willow Cabin At Your Gate, And Call Upon My Soul Within The House; Write Loyal Cantons Of Contemned Love And Sing Them Loud Even In The Dead Of Night.

-William Shakespeare

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Make Me A Willow

William Shakespeare

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Make Me A Willow Cabin At Your Gate, And Call Upon My Soul Within The House; Write Loyal Cantons Of Contemned Love And Sing Them Loud Even In The Dead Of Night.

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Tush! Fear Not, My Lord, We Will Not Stand To Prate; Talkers Are No Good Doers: Be Assured We Come To Use Our Hands And Not Our Tongues.

How Every Fool Can Play Upon The Word!

Cursed Be The Hand That Made These Fatal Holes.

They Whose Guilt Within Their Bosom Lies, Imagine Every Eye Beholds Their Blame.

Few Things Loves Better Than To Abhor Himself.

It Is The Mind That Makes The Body Rich; And As The Sun Breaks Through The Darkest Clouds, So Honor Peereth In The Meanest Habit.

Love Is Blind And Lovers Cannot See The Pretty Follies That Themselves Commit

I Am Not Yet Of Percy's Mind, The Hotspur Of The North; He That Kills Me Some Six Or Seven Dozen Of Scots As A Breakfast, Washes His Hands, And Says To His Wife, 'fie Upon This Quiet Life! I Want Work.

I Drink To The General Joy O’ The Whole Table." Macbeth

Lilies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.

O Coward Conscience, How Dost Thou Afflict Me!

I Must Be Cruel, Only To Be Kind.

You Saw Her Fair, None Else Being By, Herself Pois'd With Herself In Either Eye; But In That Crystal Scales Let There Be Weigh'd Your Lady's Love Against Some Other Maid That I Will Show You Shining At This Feast, And She Shall Scant Show Well That Now Seems Best.

The Attempt And Not The Deed Confounds Us.

Some Report A Sea-maid Spawn'd Him; Some That He Was Begot Between Two Stock-fishes. But It Is Certain That When He Makes Water His Urine Is Congealed Ice.

'tis Pride That Pulls The Country Down.

An Angel; Or, If Not, An Earthly Paragon.

In Jest, There Is Truth.

To Be Honest, As This World Goes, Is To Be One Man Picked Out Of Ten Thousand.

Though Justice Be Thy Plea Consider This, That In The Course Of Justice None Of Us Should See Salvation.

I Charge Thee, Hence, And Do Not Haunt Me Thus.

So Full Of Artless Jealousy Is Guilt, It Spills Itself In Fearing To Be Spilt.

We, Ignorant Of Ourselves, Beg Often Our Own Harms, Which The Wise Powers Deny Us For Our Good; So Find We Profit By Losing Of Our Prayers.

Let Them Obey That Knows Not How To Rule.

To Die: - To Sleep: No More; And, By A Sleep To Say We End The Heart-ache And The Thousand Natural Shocks That Flesh Is Heir To, 'tis A Consummation Devoutly To Be Wished.

There Is Little Choice In A Barrel Of Rotten Apples.

Into What Dangers Would You Lead Me, Cassius, That You Would Have Me Seek Into Myself For That Which Is Not In Me?

I May Chance Have Some Odd Quirks And Remnants Of Wit Broken On Me, Because I Have Railed So Long Against Marriage: But Doth Not The Appetite Alter? A Man Loves The Meat In His Youth That He Cannot Endure In His Age. Shall Quips And Sentences And These Paper Bullets Of The Brain Awe A Man From The Career Of His Humour? No, The World Must Be Peopled. When I Said I Would Die A Bachelor, I Did Not Think I Should Live Till I Were Married.

Death Lies On Her Like An Untimely Frost.

Make Less Thy Body Hence, And More Thy Grace. Leave Gormandizing.

O Faithless Coward! O Dishonest Wretch! Wilt Thou Be Made A Man Out Of My Vice?

I Am Never Merry When I Hear Sweet Music.

A Happy Ending Cannot Come In The Middle Of The Story

Confusion Now Hath Made His Masterpiece.

Preferred Three Hours Quicker Over One Moment Late.

For I Have Neither Wit, Nor Words, Nor Worth, Action, Nor Utterance, Nor The Power Of Speech, To Stir Men's Blood: I Only Speak Right On; I Tell You That Which You Yourselves Do Know.

Being Of No Power To Make His Wishes Good: His Promises Fly So Beyond His State That What He Speaks Is All In Debt; He Owes For Every Word.

Sin Will Pluck On Sin.

O You Beast! I'll So Maul You And Your Toasting-iron, That You Shall Think The Devil Is Come From Hell.

Anger's My Meat. I Sup Upon Myself, And So Shall Starve With Feeding.

The Poor World Is Almost Six Thousand Years Old, And In All This Time There Was Not Any Man Died In His Own Person, Videlicet, In A Love-cause.

'tis Dangerous To Take A Cold, To Sleep, To Drink; But I Tell You, My Lord Fool, Out Of This Nettle, Danger, We Pluck This Flower, Safety.

It Is Meant That Noble Minds Keep Ever With Their Likes; For Who So Firm That Cannot Be Seduced.

Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loath To Prove Reason With Them.

What Fates Impose, That Men Must Needs Abide; It Boots Not To Resist Both Wind And Tide.

How Far That Little Candle Throws Its Beams! So Shines A Good Deed In A Naughty World.

Let Still Woman Take An Elder Than Herself: So Wears She To Him, So Sways She Level In Her Husband's Heart, For, Boy, However We Do Praise Ourselves, Our Fancies Are More Giddy And Unfirm, More Longing, Wavering, Sooner To Be Lost And Warn, Than Women's Are.

Suspicion Always Haunts The Guilty Mind.

The Happiest Youth, Viewing His Progress Through, What Perils Past, What Crosses To Ensue, Would Shut The Book, And Sit Him Down And Die.

I Knew When Seven Justices Could Not Take Up A Quarrel, But When The Parties Were Met Themselves, One Of Them Thought But Of An If, As, 'if You Said So, Then I Said So;' And They Shook Hands And Swore Brothers. Your If Is The Only Peacemaker; Much Virtue In If.

I Am Declined Into The Vale Of Years.

God Mark Thee To His Grace! Thou Was The Prettiest Babe That E'er I Nursed. And Might I Live To See Thee Married Once, I Have My Wish.

O, Grief Hath Changed Me Since You Saw Me Last, And Careful Hours With Time's Deformed Hand Have Written Strange Defeatures In My Face. But Tell Me Yet, Dost Thou Not Know My Voice?

In Thee Thy Mother Dies, Our Household's Name, My Death's Revenge, Thy Youth, And England's Fame.

It May Do Good; Pride Hath No Other Glass To Show Itself But Pride, For Supple Knees Feed Arrogance And Are The Proud Man's Fees.

O, Pardon Me, Thou Bleeding Piece Of Earth, / That I Am Meek And Gentle With These Butchers!

Beauty Is Bought By Judgement Of The Eye.

Beautiful Women

All Things Are Ready, If Our Mind Be So.

Love Is Your Master, For He Masters You; And He That Is So Yoked By A Fool Methinks Should Not Be Chronicled For Wise.

My Heart Suspects More Than Mine Eye Can See.

Thyself And Thy Belongings Are Not Thine Own So Proper, As To Waste Thyself Upon Thy Virtues, They On Thee. Heaven Doth With Us As We With Torches Do, Not Light Them For Themselves; For If Our Virtues Did Not Go Forth Of Us 't Were All Alike As If We Had Them Not. Spirits Are Not Finely Touch'd But To Fine Issues; Nor Nature Never Lends The Smallest Scruple Of Her Excellence, But, Like A Thrifty Goddess, She Determines Herself The Glory Of A Creditor - Both Thanks And Use.

There Is A Law In Each Well-ordered Nation To Curb Those Raging Appetites That Are Most Disobedient And Refractory.

I Have Seen Roses Damask'd, Red And White, But No Such Roses See I In Her Cheeks.

Ay Me! For Aught That I Could Ever Read, Could Ever Hear By Tale Or History, The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth. But, Either It Was Different In Blood,- Or Else It Stood Upon The Choice Of Friends,- Or, If There Were A Sympathy In Choice, War, Death, Or Sickness Did Lay Siege To It.

We Are Advertis'd By Our Loving Friends.

Lost Friendship

Feed On Her Damask Cheek: She Pined In Thought, And With A Green And Yellow Melancholy She Sat Like Patience On A Monument, Smiling At Grief

The Apprehension Of The Good Gives But The Greater Feeling To The Worse.

I Am A Man More Sinned Against Than Sinning

Antonio: Will You Stay No Longer? Nor Will You Not That I Go With You? Sebastian: By Your Patience, No. My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me; The Malignancy Of My Fate Might, Perhaps, Distemper Yours; Therefore I Shall Crave Of You Your Leave That I May Bear My Evils Alone. It Were A Bad Recompense For Your Love To Lay Any Of Them On You.

There Is No Terror, Cassius, In Your Threats, For I Am Armed So Strong In Honesty That They Pass By Me As The Idle Wind

The Little Dogs And All, Tray, Blanch, And Sweetheart-see, They Bark At Me.

Danger Knows Full Well That Caesar Is More Dangerous Than He. We Are Two Lions Litter’d In One Day, And I The Elder And More Terrible.

Dirty Days Hath September April June And November From January Up To May The Rain It Raineth Every Day All The Rest Have Thirty-one Without A Blessed Gleam Of Sun And If Any Of Them Had Two-and-thirty They'd Be Just As Wet And Twice As Dirty." "april Hath Put A Spirit Of Youth In Everything.

Love Will Not Be Spurred To What It Loathes

Of Chastity, The Ornaments Are Chaste.

A Friend Should Bear His Friend's Infirmities.

Speak, My Fair, And Fairly, I Pray Thee.

This Is His Uncle's Teaching, This Worcester, Malevolent To You In All Aspects, Which Makes Him Prune Himself And Bristle Up The Crest Of Youth Against Your Dignity.

Condemn The Fault And Not The Actor Of It?

Measure For Measure

Get Thee A Good Husband, And Use Him As He Uses Thee.

Tis A Blushing Shame-faced Spirit That Mutinies In A Man's Bosom. It Fills A Man Full Of Obstacles. It Made Me Once Restore A Purse Of Gold That (by Chance) I Found. It Beggars Any Man That Keeps It.

I Know Them, Yea, And What They Weigh, Even To The Utmost Scruple; Scambling, Out-facing, Fashion-mong'ring Boys, That Lie, And Cog, And Flout, Deprave, And Slander, Go Antickly, And Show Outward Hideousness, And Speak Off Half A Dozen Dangerous Words, How They Might Hurt Their Enemies, If They Durst; And This Is All.

But I Will Be, A Bridegroom In My Death, And Run Into't As To A Lover's Bed.

To Show An Unfelt Sorrow Is An Office Which The False Man Does Easy.

A Heaven On Earth I Have Won By Wooing Thee.

Men That Hazard All Do It In Hope Of Fair Advantages: A Golden Mind Stoops Not To Shows Of Dross.

Press Not A Falling Man Too Far; 'tis Virtue: His Faults Lie Open To The Laws; Let Them, Not You, Correct Him.

If I Shall Be Condemned Upon Surmises, All Proofs Sleeping Else But What Your Jealousies Awake, I Tell You 'tis Rigor And Not Law.

For There's No Motion That Tends To Vice In Man, But I Affirm It Is The Woman's Part.

I Have Been Studying How I May Compare This Prison Where I Live Unto The World; And, For Because The World Is Populous, And Here Is Not A Creature But Myself, I Cannot Do It. Yet I'll Hammer It Out.

The Ostentation Of Our Love, Which, Left Unshown, Is Often Left Unloved.

Is Love A Tender Thing? It Is Too Rough, Too Rude, Too Boisterous, And It Pricks Like Thorn.

If It Were Done When 'tis Done, Then 'twere Well. It Were Done Quickly.

Britain Is A World By Itself, And We Will Nothing Pay For Wearing Our Own Noses.

Ingratitude Is Monstrous; And For The Multitude To Be Ingrateful Were To Make A Monster Of The Multitude; Of Which We Being Members, Should Bring Ourselves To Be Monstrous Members.

Report Me And My Cause Aright.

My Glass Shall Not Persuade Me I Am Old, So Long As Youth And Thou Are Of One Date; But When In Thee Time's Furrows I Behold, Then Look I Death My Days Should Expiate.

Dumb Jewels Often, In Their Silent Kind, More Than Quick Words, Do Move A Woman's Mind.

Conversation Should Be Pleasant Without Scurrility, Witty Without Affectation, Free Without Indecency, Learned Without Conceitedness, Novel Without Falsehood.

Awake, Dear Heart, Awake. Thou Hast Slept Well. Awake.

'tis Not To Make Me Jealous To Say My Wife Is Fair, Feeds Well, Loves Company, Is Free Of Speech, Sings, Plays, And Dances Well; Where Virtue Is, These Are More Virtuous.

We Must Every One Be A Man Of His Own Fancy.

Dreams Are The Children Of Idled Minds.

A Good Sherris-sack Hath A Twofold Operation In It. It Ascends Me Into The Brain,... Makes It Apprehensive, Quick, Forgetive, Full Of Nimble, Fiery, And Delectable Shapes.

If There Be No Great Love In The Beginning, Yet Heaven May Decrease It Upon Better Acquaintance, When We Are Married And Have More Occasion To Know One Another: I Hope, Upon Familiarity Will Grow More Contempt.

O' Thinkest Thou We Shall Ever Meet Again? I Doubt It Not; And All These Woes Shall Serve For Sweet Discourses In Our Times To Come.

Make The Upcoming Hour Overflow With Joy, And Let Pleasure Drown The Brim.

Take But Degree Away, Untune That String, And Hark, What Discord Follows!

She Says I Am Not Fair, That I Lack Manners; She Calls Me Proud, And That She Could Not Love Me, Were Man As Rare As Phoenix.

The Bitter Clamor Of Two Eager Tongues.

What A Piece Of Work Is A Man, How Noble In Reason, How Infinite In Faculties, In Form And Moving How Express And Admirable, In Action How Like An Angel, In Apprehension How Like A God.

Out, Out, Brief Candle! Life's But A Walking Shadow.

Futility Of Life

My Love Is Thine To Teach; Teach It But How, And Thou Shalt See How Apt It Is To Learn. Any Hard Lesson That May Do Thee Good.

Have I Caught Thee, My Heavenly Jewel? Why, Now Let Me Die, For I Have Lived Long Enough.

Grief Hath Two Tongues; And Never Woman Yet Could Rule Them Both Without Ten Women's Wit.

I Have Of Late--but Wherefore I Know Not--lost All My Mirth, Forgone All Custom Of Exercise.

Truly Thou Art Damned, Like An Ill-roasted Egg, All On One Side.

When Love Begins To Sicken And Decay It Uses An Enforced Ceremony.

Nor Aught So Good But Strained From That Fair Use, Revolts From True Birth Stumbling On Abuse.

At Christmas I No More Desire A Rose Than Wish A Snow In May's New-fangled Mirth; But Like Of Each Thing That In Season Grows.

Full Many A Lady I Have Eyed With Best Regard, And Many A Time Th' Harmony Of Their Tongues Hath Into Bondage Brought My Too Diligent Ear; For Several Virtues Have I Liked Several Women; Never Any With So Full Soul But Some Defect In Her Did Quarrel With The Noblest Grace She Owed, And Put It To The Foil.

Though Music Oft Hath Such A Charm To Make Bad Good, And Good Provoke To Harm.

Men From Children Nothing Differ.

This World Is Not For Aye, Nor 'tis Not Strange That Even Our Loves Should With Our Fortunes Change, For 'tis A Question Left Us Yet To Prove, Whether Love Lead Fortune, Or Else Fortune Love.

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

Pleasure And Revenge Have Ears More Deaf Than Adders To The Voice Of Any True Decision.

Uneasy Lies The Head That Wears A Crown.

But I, That Am Not Shaped For Sportive Tricks, Nor Made To Court An Amorous Looking-glass; I, That Am Rudely Stamped, And Want Love's Majesty To Strut Before A Wanton Ambling Nymph; I, That Am Curtailed Of This Fair Proportion, Cheated Of Feature By Dissembling Nature, Deformed, Unfinished, Sent Before My Time Into This Breathing World, Scarce Half Made Up, And That So Lamely And Unfashionable That Dogs Bark At Me As I Halt By Them,-- Why, I, In This Weak Piping Time Of Peace, Have No Delight To Pass Away The Time, Unless To Spy My Shadow In The Sun.

Come, Go With Us, Speak Fair; You May Salve So, Not What Is Dangerous Present, But The Los Of What Is Past.

This Is The Very Ecstasy Of Love.

Important Hamlet

Faster Than Spring-time Showers Comes Thought On Thought.

For To Define True Madness, What Is't But To Be Nothing Else But Mad?

A Woman Would Run Through Fire And Water For Such A Kind Heart.

Hang Him, Swaggering Rascal!

Thou Know'st 'tis Common; All That Lives Must Die, Passing Through Nature To Eternity.

Even So; An't Please Your Worship, Brakenbury, You May Partake Of Any Thing We Say: We Speak No Treason, Man; We Say The King Is Wise And Virtuous, And His Noble Queen Well Struck In Years, Fair, And Not Jealous; We Say That Shore's Wife Hath A Pretty Foot, A Cherry Lip, A Bonny Eye, A Passing Pleasing Tongue; And That The Queen's Kindred Are Made Gentlefolks.

Woe, Destruction, Ruin, And Decay; The Worst Is Death And Death Will Have His Day.

Tis Beauty Truly Blent, Whose Red And White Nature's Own Sweet And Cunning Hand Laid On.

Preferment Goes By Letter And Affection, And Not By Old Gradation, Where Each Second Stood Heir To Th's First.

A Grandma's Name Is Little Less In Love Than Is The Doting Title Of A Mother.

I Loved Ophelia. Forty Thousand Brothers Could Not, With All Their Quantity Of Love, Make Up My Sum.

Hamlet And Ophelia

But Yet, I Say, If Imputation And Strong Circumstances, Which Lead Directly To The Door Of Truth, Will Give You Satisfaction, You May Have It.

I Pray Thee Cease Thy Counsel, Which Falls Into Mine Ears As Profitless As Water In A Sieve.

Gloucester: I Do Not Know That Englishman Alive With Whom My Soul Is Any Jot At Odds, More Than The Infant That Is Born To-night: I Thank My God For My Humility.

But Shall We Wear These Glories For A Day? Or Shall They Last, And We Rejoice In Them?

Tears Harden Lust, Though Marble Wear With Raining.

I Do Not Know What Kind Of My Obedience I Should Tender. More Than My All Is Nothing; Nor My Prayers Are Not Words Holy Hallowed, Nor My Wishes More Worth Than Empty Vanities; Yet Prayers And Wishes Are All I Can Return.

My Desolation Does Begin To Make A Better Life.

Pray, Love, Remember: And There Is Pansies, That's For Thoughts.

Hamlet And Ophelia

Sorrow Breaks Seasons And Reposing Hours, Makes The Night Morning, And The Noontide Night.

The Wildest Hath Not Such A Heart As You. Run When You Will, The Story Shall Be Changed: Apollo Flies, And Daphne Holds The Chase; The Dove Pursues The Griffin; The Mild Hind Makes Speed To Catch The Tiger; Bootless Speed, When Cowardice Pursues And Valour Flies.

How Sharper Than A Serpent's Tooth It Is To Have A Thankless Child!

Alas, Their Love May Be Call'd Appetite. No Motion Of The Liver, But The Palate

Death Rock Me Asleep.

God, The Best Maker Of All Marriages, Combine Your Hearts Into One.

Wedding Anniversary

If Ever (as That Ever May Be Near) You Meet In Some Fresh Cheek The Power Of Fancy, Then Shall You Know The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen, Arrows Make.

Virtue's Office Never Breaks Men's Troth.

Words Are Easy, Like The Wind; Faithful Friends Are Hard To Find.

O, It Is Excellent To Have A Giant's Strength; But It Is Tyrannous To Use It Like A Giant.

Farewell! God Knows When We Shall Meet Again.

Headstrong Liberty Is Lashed With Woe.

To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek The Light Of Truth.

The Time Is Out Of Joint.

Though Age From Folly Could Not Give Me Freedom, It Does From Childishness.

You Dull Ass Will Not Mend His Pace With Beating.

There Is Nothing Serious In Mortality

The Moon's An Arrant Thief, And Her Pale Fire She Snatches From The Sun.

Is It Possible He Should Know What He Is, And Be That He Is?

By-and-by Is Easily Said.

With This Special Observance, That You O'erstep Not The Modesty Of Nature. For Anything So Overdone Is From The Purpose Of Playing, Whose End, Both At The First And Now, Was And Is, To Hold, As 'twere, The Mirror Up To Nature.

Time's Glory Is To Command Contending Kings, To Unmask Falsehood, And Bring Truth To Light.

I Humbly Do Beseech Of Your Pardon, For Too Much Loving You

For I Am Nothing If Not Critical.

Roses Have Thorns, And Silver Fountains Mud; Clouds And Eclipses Stain Both Moon And Sun, And Loathsome Canker Lies In Sweetest Bud. All Men Make Faults.

Watch Tonight, Pray Tomorrow. Gallants, Lads, Boys, Hearts Of Gold, All The Titles Of Good Fellowship Come To You!

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounced It To You-trippingly On The Tongue; But If You Mouth It, As Many Of Your Players Do, I Had As Lief The Town-crier Spoke My Lines. Nor Do Not Saw The Air Too Much With Your Hand, Thus, But Use All Gently; For In The Very Torrent, Tempest, And As I May Say, The Whirlwind Of Your Passion, You Must Acquire And Beget A Temperance That May Give It Smoothness.

What Hands Are Here? Ha! They Pluck Out Mine Eyes! Will All Great Neptune’s Ocean Wash This Blood Clean From My Hand? No; This My Hand Will Rather The Multitudinous Seas Incarnadine, Making The Green One Red.” “my Hands Are Of Your Colour; But I Shame To Wear A Heart So White. A Little Water Clears Us Of This Deed: How Easy It Is Then! Your Constancy Hath Left You Unattended.

Whatever Praises Itself But In The Deed, Devours The Deed In The Praise.

Vanity And Pride

This Thing Of Darkness I Acknowledge Mine.

For Where Thou Art, There Is The World Itself, With Every Several Pleasure In The World, And Where Thou Art Not, Desolation.

I Praise God For You, Sir: Your Reasons At Dinner Have Been Sharp And Sententious; Pleasant Without Scurrility, Witty Without Affectation, Audacious Without Impudency, Learned Without Opinion, And Strange With-out Heresy.

True, I Talk Of Dreams, Which Are The Children Of An Idle Brain, Begot Of Nothing But Vain Fantasy, Which Is As Thin Of Substance As The Air, And More Inconstant Than The Wind, Who Woos Even Now The Frozen Bosom Of The North, And, Being Anger'd, Puffs Away From Thence, Turning His Side To The Dew-dropping South.

No Man's Pie Is Freed From His Ambitious Finger.

I Am Joined With No Foot Land-rakers, No Long-staff, Sixpenny Strikers, None Of These Mad, Mustachio Purple-hued Maltworms, But With Nobility And Tranquillity.

One Whom The Music Of His Own Vain Tongue Doth Ravish Like Enchanting Harmony.

The Curse Of Marriage That We Can Call These Delicate Creatures Ours And Not Their Appetites!

Tis Often Seen Adoption Strives With Nature; And Choice Breeds A Native Slip To Us From Foreign Lands.

Faith, Stay Here This Night; They Will Surely Do Us No Harm; You Saw They Speak Us Fair, Give Us Gold; Methinks They Are Such A Gentle Nation That, But For The Mountain Of Mad Flesh That Claims Marriage Of Me, Could Find In My Heart To Stay Here Still And Turn Witch.

You Know That Love Will Creep In Service Where It Cannot Go.

Graze On My Lips; And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

I Am As Vigilant As A Cat To Steal Cream.

My Nature Is Subdued To What It Works In, Like The Dyer's Hand.

Exceeds Man's Might: That Dwells With The Gods Above.

I Have Seen Better Faces In My Time Than Stands On Any Shoulder That I See Before Me At This Instant.

Vanity Keeps Persons In Favor With Themselves Who Are Out Of Favor With All Others.

The Brightness Of Her Cheek Would Shame Those Stars As Daylight Doth A Lamp; Her Eyes In Heaven Would Through The Airy Region Stream So Bright That Birds Would Sing, And Think It Were Not Night.

To Gild Refined Gold, To Paint The Lily... Is Wasteful And Ridiculous Excess

I Prithee Gentle Friend, Let Thy Fair Wisdom, Not Thy Passions, Sway In This Uncivil And Unjust Extent Against Thy Peace.

If Thou Remeber'st Not The Slightest Folly That Ever Love Did Make Thee Run Into, Thou Hast Not Lov'd

To Weep Is To Make Less The Depth Of Grief.

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