And She's Fair I Love.

What We Determine We Often Break. Purpose Is But The Slave To Memory.

Sin Will Pluck On Sin.

Rumour Is A Pipe Blown By Surmises, Jealousies, Conjectures And Of So Easy And So Plain A Stop That The Blunt Monster With Uncounted Heads, The Still-discordant Wavering Multitude, Can Play Upon It.

A Kind Of Excellent Dumb Discourse.

You Will Never Age For Me, Nor Fade, Nor Die.