Hot And Hasty, Like A Scotch Jig.

When My Love Swears That She Is Made Of Truth, I Do Believe Her, Though I Know She Lies.

Weariness Can Snore Upon The Flint When Resting Sloth Finds The Down Pillow Hard.

Enjoy'd No Sooner But Despised Straight, Past Reason Hunted, And No Sooner Had Past Reason Hated

A Thousand Moral Paintings I Can Show That Shall Demonstrate These Quick Blows Of Fortune's More Pregnantly Than Words.

Grim-visaged War Hath Smoothed His Wrinkled Front; And Now, Instead Of Mounting Barbed Steeds To Fright The Souls Of Fearful Adversaries, He Capers Nimbly In A Lady's Chamber To The Lascivious Pleasing Of A Lute.