Faint Heart Never Won Fair Maid.

When Rich Villains Have Need Of Poor Ones, Poor Ones May Make What Price They Will

Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown, And What Strength I Have's Mine Own, Which Is Most Faint: Now, 'tis True, Or Sent To Naples. Let Me Not, Since I Have My Dukedom Got And Pardon 'd The Deceiver, Dwell In This Bare Island By Your Spell; I Must Be Here Confined By You, But Release Me From My Bands With The Help Of Your Good Hands: Gentle Breath Of Yours My Sails Must Fill, Or Else My Project Fails, Which Was To Please: Now I Want Spirits To Enforce, Art To Enchant, And My Ending Is Despair, Unless I Be Relieved By Prayer, Which Pierces So, That It Assaults Mercy Itself, And Frees All Faults. As You From Crimes Would Pardon'd Be, Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free.

What Time Hath Scanted Men In Hair, He Hath Given Them In Wit.

Thy Words, I Grant Are Bigger, For I Wear Not, My Dagger In My Mouth.

Ideas Are The Very Coinage Of Your Brain.