At This Hour Lie At My Mercy

Fit For The Mountains And The Barbarous Caves, Where Manners Ne'er Were Preached.

You Have Her Father's Love, Demetrius; Let Me Have Hermia's: Do You Marry Him!

Wilt Thou Whip Thine Own Faults In Other Men?

A Sentence Is But A Cheveril Glove To A Good Wit; How Quickly The Wrong Side May Be Turned Outward!

Lovers Ever Run Before The Clock