Ornament Is But The Guiled Shore To

But No Perfection Is So Absolute, That Some Impurity Doth Not Pollute.

I Love Thee; None But Thee, And Thou Deservest It

Stones Have Been Known To Move And Trees To Speak.

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.

It Is The Very Error Of The Moon; She Comes More Nearer Earth Than She Was Wont, And Makes Men Mad.