A Very Scurvy Fellow.

The Wound Of Peace Is Surety, Surety Secure.

The Sight Of Lovers Feedeth Those In Love.

See How She Leans Her Cheek Upon Her Hand. O, That I Were A Glove Upon That Hand That I Might Touch That Cheek!

We Will All Laugh At Gilded Butterflies.

The Breach Of Custom Is Breach Of All.