And, If You Love Me, As I

They That Touch Pitch Will Be Defiled.

Alack, There Lies More Peril In Thine Eye Than Twenty Of Their Swords: Look Thou But Sweet, And I Am Proof Against Their Enmity.

To Think But Nobly Of My Grandmother: Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons.

Tongues I'll Hang On Every Tree That Shall Civil Sayings Show. . . .

A Woman Moved Is Like A Fountain Troubled, Muddy, Ill-seeming, Thick, Bereft Of Beauty.