Beggar That I Am, I Am Even

Yet Mark'd I Where The Bolt Of Cupid Fell: It Fell Upon A Little Western Flower, Before Milk-white, Now Purple With Love's Wound, And Maidens Call It Love-in-idleness.

To Gild Refined Gold, To Paint The Lily... Is Wasteful And Ridiculous Excess

Scarce Can I Speak, My Choler Is So Great. Oh! I Could Hew Up Rocks, And Fight With Flint.

These Blessed Candles Of The Night.

Look, What A Horse Should Have He Did Not Lack, Save A Proud Rider On His Back.