Good Night, Good Night! Parting Is Such

Fondling,' She Saith, 'since I Have Hemm'd Thee Here Within The Circuit Of This Ivory Pale, I'll Be A Park, And Thou Shalt Be My Deer; Feed Where Thou Wilt, On Mountain Or In Dale: Graze On My Lips, And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

What Soilders Whey-face? The English For So Please You. Take Thy Face Hence.

Passion Makes The Will Lord Of The Reason.

A Rarer Spirit Never Did Steer Humanity; But You Gods Will Give Us Some Faults To Make Us Men.

Home-keeping Youth Have Ever Homely Wits.