Cursed Be The Hand That Made These

What's In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.

Most Friendship Is Feigning, Most Loving Mere Folly.

Because It Is A Customary Cross, As Die To Love As Thoughts, And Dreams, And Sighs, Wishes, And Tears, Poor Fancy's Followers.

Hot And Hasty, Like A Scotch Jig.

I Have Set My Life Upon A Cast, And I Will Stand The Hazard Of The Die.