It Hurts Not The Tongue To Give

Teach Me, Dear Creature, How To Think And Speak; Lay Open To My Earthy-gross Conceit, Smother'd In Errors, Feeble, Shallow, Weak, The Folded Meaning Of Your Words' Deceit.

You'd Be So Lean, That Blast Of January Would Blow You Through And Through. Now, My Fair'st Friend, I Would I Had Some Flowers O' The Spring That Might Become Your Time Of Day.

For My Part, If A Lie May Do Thee Grace, I'll Gild It With The Happiest Terms I Have.

Life... Is A Paradise To What We Know Of Death.

These Signs Have Marked Me Extraordinary, And All The Courses Of My Life Do Show I Am Not In The Roll Of Common Men.