In Delay There Lies No Plenty.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer Day? Thou Art More Lovely And More Temperate... When In Eternal Lines To Time Thou Growst So Long As Men Can Breathe Or Eyes Can See, So Long Lives This, And This Gives Life To Thee.

Should All Despair That Have Revolted Wives, The Tenth Of Mankind Would Hang Themselves.

I Know A Place Where The Wild Thyme Blows, Where Oxlips And The Nodding Violet Grows.

He Does Me Double Wrong That Wounds Me With The Flatteries Of His Tongue.

The Time Of Life Is Short; To Spend That Shortness Basely Were Too Long.