Time Goes On Crutches Till Love Have

Lay Not That Flattering Unction To Your Soul, That Not Your Trespass But My Madness Speaks.

Tis A Blushing Shame-faced Spirit That Mutinies In A Man's Bosom. It Fills A Man Full Of Obstacles. It Made Me Once Restore A Purse Of Gold That (by Chance) I Found. It Beggars Any Man That Keeps It.

A King Of Infinite Space

And Therefore, — Since I Cannot Prove A Lover, To Entertain These Fair Well-spoken Days, — I Am Determined To Prove A Villain, And Hate The Idle Pleasures Of These Days.

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men.