Wrong Hath But Wrong, And Blame The

Tis Beauty Truly Blent, Whose Red And White Nature's Own Sweet And Cunning Hand Laid On.

The Tongues Of Mocking Wenches Are As Keen As Is The Razor's Edge Invisible.

All That Glisters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told: Many A Man His Life Hath Sold But My Outside To Behold: Gilded Tombs Do Worms Enfold.

Give Me My Robe, Put On My Crown; I Have Immortal Longings In Me.

In The Modesty Of Fearful Duty, I Read As Much As From The Rattling Tongue Of Saucy And Audacious Eloquence.