Good Old Grandsire ... We Shall Be

It Hurts Not The Tongue To Give Fair Words.

But Love That Comes Too Late, Like A Remorseful Pardon Slowly Carried, To The Great Sender Turns A Sour Offense, Crying, 'that's Good That's Gone.

But If The While I Think On Thee, Dear Friend, All Losses Are Restored And Sorrows End.

Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date.

She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs: If Her Breath Were As Terrible As Her Terminations, There Were No Living Near Her; She Would Infect To The North Star. I Would Not Marry Her, Though She Were Endowed With All That Adam Bad Left Him Before He Transgressed.