However Wickedness Outstrips Men, It Has No

Come Not Between The Dragon And His Wrath.

I Have Ventured, Like Little Wanton Boys That Swim On Bladders, This Many Summers In A Sea Of Glory, But Far Beyond My Depth. My High-blown Pride At Length Broke Under Me, And Now Has Left Me, Weary And Old With Service, To The Mercy Of A Rude Stream That Must For Ever Hide Me.

Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs.

Look To Her, Moor, If Thou Has Eyes To See. She Has Deceived Her Father, And May Thee.

I Loved Ophelia. Forty Thousand Brothers Could Not, With All Their Quantity Of Love, Make Up My Sum.