Ill Met By Moonlight, Proud Titania

Conceit, More Rich In Matter Than In Words, Brags Of His Substance, Not Of Ornament: They Are But Beggars That Can Count Their Worth; But My True Love Is Grown To Such Excess, I Cannot Sum Up Half My Sum Of Wealth.

God Has Given You One Face, And You Make Yourself Another.

Jesu, Jesu, The Mad Days That I Have Spent! And To See How Many Of My Old Acquaintance Are Dead!

For 'tis The Sport To Have The Engineerhoist With His Own Petard.

By That Sin Fell The Angels.