He That Loves Pleasure Must For Pleasure

Lone Women, Like To Empty Houses, Perish.

Time Doth Run With Calm And Silent Foot, Shortening My Days And Thread Of Vital Life.

Jigging Veins Of Rhyming Mother Wits.

Who Ever Loved That Loved Not At First Sight?

Cut Is The Branch That Might Have Grown Full Straight, And Burned Is Apollo's Laurel Bough, That Sometime Grew Within This Learned Man. Faustus Is Gone.