In Time We Hate That Which We

Cursed Be He That Moves My Bones.

You Have Witchcraft In Your Lips, There Is More Eloquence In A Sugar Touch Of Them Than In The Tongues Of The French Council; And They Should Sooner Persuade Harry Of England Than A General Petition Of Monarchs.

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

Sweet Flowers Are Slow And Weeds Make Haste.

Love Is Merely A Madness; And, I Tell You, Deserves As Well A Dark House And A Whip As Madmen Do; And The Reason Why They Are Not So Punish'd And Cured Is That The Lunacy Is So Ordinary That The Whippers Are In Love Too.