Get Thee To A Nunnery.

Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness, And Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them.

So Far Be Distant; And Good Night, Sweet Friend: Thy Love Ne'er Alter, Till They Sweet Life End

I Do Not Hate A Proud Man, As I Do Hate The Engendering Of Toads.

How Is It That The Clouds Still Hang On You?

Then Was I As A Tree Whose Boughs Did Bend With Fruit; But In One Night, A Storm Or Robbery, Call It What You Will, Shook Down My Mellow Hangings, Nay, My Leaves, And Left Me Bare To Weather.