Were Kisses All The Joys In Bed,

Rumour Doth Double, Like The Voice And Echo, The Numbers Of The Feared.

Then Was I As A Tree Whose Boughs Did Bend With Fruit; But In One Night, A Storm Or Robbery, Call It What You Will, Shook Down My Mellow Hangings, Nay, My Leaves, And Left Me Bare To Weather.

Base Is The Slave That Pays.

A Young Woman In Love Always Looks Like Patience On A Monument Smiling At Grief

What, Can The Devil Speak True?