Love Is A Spirit All Compact Of

Few Things Loves Better Than To Abhor Himself.

When Remedies Are Past, The Griefs Are Ended By Seeing The Worst, Which Late On Hopes Depended.

Yet This My Comfort: When Your Words Are Done, My Woes End Likewise With The Evening Sun.

The Most Peerless Piece Of Earth, I Think, That E' Er The Sun Shone Bright On.

Thy Wit Is A Very Bitter Sweeting; It Is A Most Sharp Sauce.