And Oftentimes Excusing Of A Fault Doth

Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds, Or Bends With The Remover To Remove. O, No! It Is An Ever-fixed Mark, That Looks On Tempests And Is Never Shaken. It Is The Star To Every Wandering Bark, Whose Worth's Unknown, Although His Height Be Taken.

Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice.

Barnes Are Blessings.

Short Summers Lightly Have A Forward Spring.

Is It Not Strange That Desire Should So Many Years Outlive Performance?