The Present Eye Praises The Present Object.

The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth.

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes, Bliss In Our Brows' Bent; None Our Parts So Poor But Was A Race Of Heaven.

I'll Speak In A Monstrous Little Voice.

Time Travels In Divers Paces With Divers Persons. I'll Tell You Who Time Ambles Withal, Who Time Trots Withal, Who Time Gallops Withal, And Who He Stands Still Withal.

Fortune Reigns In Gifts Of The World.