If You Spend Word For Word With

Friendship Is Constant In All Other Things, Save In The Office And Affairs Of Love.

Oh, Injurious Love, That Respites Me A Life, Whose Very Comfort Is Still A Dying Horror

I Will Chide No Breather In The World But Myself, Against Whom I Know Most Faults.

Much Rain Wears The Marble.

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.