A Maiden Hath No Tongue--but Thought.

The Peace Of Heaven Is Theirs That Lift Their Swords, In Such A Just And Charitable War.

No, I Will Be The Pattern Of All Patience; I Will Say Nothing.

What A Piece Of Work Is A Man

I Hold It Cowardice To Rest Mistrustful Where A Noble Heart Hath Pawned An Open Hand In Sign Of Love.

Take You Me For A Sponge?