For Such Things As You, I Can

Men In Rage Strike Those That Wish Them Best.

Get Thee Glass Eyes, And Like A Scurvy Politician, Seem To See The Things Thou Dost Not.

If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On.

Knavery's Plain Face Is Never Seen Till Used.

For As A Surfeit Of The Sweetest Things The Deepest Loathing To The Stomach Brings, Or As Tie Heresies That Men Do Leave Are Hated Most Of Those They Did Deceive, So Thou, My Surfeit And My Heresy, Of All Be Hated, But The Most Of Me!