Will Fortune Never Come With Both Hands

We Must Every One Be A Man Of His Own Fancy.

Ere I Could Make Thee Open Thy White Hand, And Clap Thyself My Love; Then Didst Thou Utter, I Am Your's For Ever!

What To Ourselves In Passion We Propose, The Passion Ending, Doth The Purpose Lose.

Downy Sleep, Death's Counterfeit.

If It Were Done When 'tis Done, Then 'twere Well. It Were Done Quickly.