Now I Will Believe That There Are

My Thoughts Are Whirled Like A Potter's Wheel; I Know Not Where I Am Nor What I Do.

He Was Too Good To Be Where Ill Men Were, And Was The Best Of All Amongst The Rar'st Of Good Ones- Sitting Sadly Hearing Us Praise Our Loves Of Italy For Beauty That Made Barren The Swell'd Boast Of Him That Best Could Speak; For Feature, Laming The Shrine Of Venus Or Straight-pight Minerva, Postures Beyond Brief Nature; For Condition, A Shop Of All The Qualities That Man Loves Woman For; Besides That Hook Of Wiving, Fairness Which Strikes The Eye- Cymbeline.

'tis Better To Be Vile Than Vile Esteemed

By Heaven, My Soul Is Purg'd From Grudging Hate; And With My Hand I Seal My True Heart's Love

As He Was Valiant, I Honour Him. But As He Was Ambitious, I Slew Him.