What A Deformed Thief This Fashion Is.

O Most Delicate Fiend! Who Is't Can Read A Woman? Is There More?

Come Away, Come Away, Death, And In Sad Cypress Let Me Be Laid; Fly Away, Fly Away, Breath, I Am Slain By A Fair Cruel Maid. My Shroud Of White Stuck All With Yew, O Prepare It! My Part Of Death No One So True Did Share It. Not A Flower, Not A Flower Sweet, On My Black Coffin Let There Be Strewn: Not A Friend, Not A Friend Greet My Poor Corpse, Where My Bones Shall Be Thrown. A Thousand Thousand Sighs To Save, Lay Me O Where Sad True Lover Never Find My Grave, To Weep There!

Hasty Marriage Seldom Proveth Well.

How Sharper Than A Serpent's Tooth It Is To Have A Thankless Child!

What Our Contempts Do Often Hurl From Us, We Wish It Ours Again.