Lend Less Than You Owe.

What Power Is It Which Mounts My Love So High, That Makes Me See, And Cannot Feed Mine Eye

There's Not The Smallest Orb Which Thou Behold'st But In His Motion Like An Angel Sings.

Since My Dear Soul Was Mistress Of Her Choice And Could Of Men Distinguish Her Election, Sh'ath Sealed Thee For Herself.

Men's Evil Manners Live In Brass; Their Virtues We Write In Water.

Wishers Were Ever Fools.