A Hit, A Very Palpable Hit.

I Care Not, A Man Can Die But Once; We Owe God And Death.

I Have Lov'd Her Ever Since I Saw Her; And Still I See Her Beautiful

He That Commends Me To Mine Own Content Commends Me To The Thing I Cannot Get.

What A Pretty Thing Man Is When He Goes In His Doublet And Hose And Leaves Off His Wit!

The Moon's An Arrant Thief, And Her Pale Fire She Snatches From The Sun.