He That Is Thy Friend Indeed, He

The Thing Of Courage As Rous'd With Rage Doth Sympathise, And, With An Accent Tun'd In Self-same Key, Retorts To Chiding Fortune.

Wooing, Wedding, And Repenting Is As A Scotch Jig, A Measure, And A Cinque-pace: The First Suit Is Hot And Hasty Like A Scotch Jig--and Full As Fantastical; The Wedding, Mannerly Modest, As A Measure, Full Of State And Ancientry; And Then Comes Repentance And With His Bad Legs Falls Into The Cinque-pace Faster And Faster, Till He Sink Into His Grave.

Whether 'tis Nobler In The Mind To Suffer The Slings And Arrows Of Outrageous Fortune, Or To Take Arms Against A Sea Of Troubles, And By Opposing End Them?

O Prosperina, For The Flowers Now That, Frighted, Thou Let'st Fall From Dis's Wagon; Daffodils, That Come Before The Swallow Dares, And Take The Winds Of March With Beauty; Violets Dim, But Sweeter Than The Lids Of Juno's Eyes Or Cytherea's Breath; Pale Primroses, That Die Unmarried, Ere They Can Behold Bright Phoebus In His Strength--a Malady Most Incident To Maids; Bold Oxlips And The Crown Imperial; Lilies Of All Kinds, The Flower-de-luce Being One.

If The Masses Can Love Without Knowing Why, They Also Hate Without Much Foundation.