Let No Such Man Be Trusted.

We Do Not Keep The Outward Form Of Order, Where There Is Deep Disorder In The Mind.

There's Small Choice In Rotten Apples.

O The World Is But A Word; Were It All Yours To Give It In A Breath, How Quickly Were It Gone!

Show Me A Mistress That Is Passing Fair, What Doth Her Beauty Serve But As A Note Where I May Read Who Pass'd That Passing Fair?

Fight Valiantly To-day; And Yet I Do Thee Wrong To Mind Thee Of It, For Thou Art Framed Of The Firm Truth Of Valor.