I Came, Saw, And Overcame.

Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds, Or Bends With The Remover To Remove. O, No! It Is An Ever-fixed Mark, That Looks On Tempests And Is Never Shaken. It Is The Star To Every Wandering Bark, Whose Worth's Unknown, Although His Height Be Taken.

His Jest Will Savour But Of Shallow Wit, When Thousands Weep, More Than Did Laugh At It.

Forget, Forgive; Conclude, And Be Agreed.

Then Was I As A Tree Whose Boughs Did Bend With Fruit; But In One Night, A Storm Or Robbery, Call It What You Will, Shook Down My Mellow Hangings, Nay, My Leaves, And Left Me Bare To Weather.

Ring The Alarum-bell! Blow, Wind! Come, Wrack! At Least We'll Die With Harness On Our Back.