The Venom Clamours Of A Jealous Woman

Tis Much When Sceptres Are In Children's Hands, But More When Envy Breeds Unkind Division: There Comes The Ruin, There Begins Confusion.

Silence Is The Perfectest Herault Of Joy. I Were But Little Happy If I Could Say How Much.

I Am Now Of All Humors That Have Showed Themselves Humors Since The Old Days Of Goodman Adam To The Pupil Age Of This Present Twelve O'clock At Midnight.

Words Without Thoughts Never To Heaven Go.

O, Spirit Of Love, How Quick And Fresh Art Thou!