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

Love Asks Me No Questions, And Gives Me Endless Support.

Time Hath, My Lord, A Wallet At His Back Wherein He Puts Alms For Oblivion, A Great-sized Monster Of Ingratitudes: Those Scraps Are Good Deeds Past, Which Are Devour'd As Fast As They Are Made, Forgot As Soon As Done.

A Very Scurvy Fellow.

Can I Go Forward When My Heart Is Here?

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