The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow

The Fashion Of The World Is To Avoid Cost, And You Encounter It.

Have You Not Love Enough To Bear With Me, When That Rash Humor Which My Mother Gave Me Makes Me Forgetful.

Season Your Admiration For A While.

Who Knows Himself A Braggart, Let Him Fear This; For It Will Come To Pass That Every Braggart Will Be Found An Ass.

My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun