A Man Loves The Meat In His

Highly Fed And Lowly Taught.

O, What Damned Minutes Tells He O'er Who Dotes, Yet Doubts, Suspects, Yet Fondly Loves!

No, Cassius; For The Eye Sees Not Itself, But By Reflection, By Some Other Things.

Scorn, At First, Makes After-love The More.

There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murder In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell.