If We Are True To Ourselves, We

I Count Myself In Nothing Else So Happy As In A Soul Remembering My Good Friends

Things Base And Vile, Holding No Quantity, Love Can Transpose To Form And Dignity

A Cup Of Hot Wine With Not A Drop Of Allaying Tiber In 't.

They Love Least That Let Men Know Their Loves.

Gives Not The Hawthorn Bush A Sweeter Shade To Shepherds, Looking On Their Silly Sheep, Than Doth A Rich Embroider'd Canopy To Kings That Fear Their Subjects Treachery?