Truth Needs No Color; Beauty, No Pencil.

O, She Misused Me Past The Endurance Of A Block.

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat, Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This, That To The Use Of Actions Fair And Good He Likewise Gives A Frock Or Livery That Aptly Is Put On. Refrain Tonight, And That Shall Lend A Kind Of Easiness To The Next Abstinence; The Next More Easy; For Use Almost Can Change The Stamp Of Nature.

When Sorrows Come, They Come Not Single Spies, But In Battalions.

All The Perfumes Of Arabia Will Not Sweeten This Little Hand! Oh, Oh, Oh!

This Feather Stirs; She Lives! If It Be So, It Is A Chance Which Does Redeem All Sorrows That Ever I Have Felt.