Thou Frothy Tickle-brained Hedge-pig!

Her Passions Are Made Of Nothing But The Finest Part Of Pure Love

To Be In Love, Where Scorn Is Bought With Groans; Coy Looks, With Heart-sore Sighs; One Fading Moment's Mirth

Truth Needs No Color; Beauty, No Pencil.

What Time Hath Scanted Men In Hair, He Hath Given Them In Wit.

I Dreamt My Lady Came And Found Me Dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And Breathed Such Life With Kisses In My Lips That I Revived And Was An Emperor.