Let Greeks Be Greeks, And Women What

O Time The Fatal Wrack Of Mortal Things, That Draws Oblivion's Curtains Over Kings; Their Sumptuous Monuments, Men Know Them Not, Their Names Without A Record Are Forgot, Their Parts, Their Ports, Their Pomps All Laid In Th' Dust Nor Wit Nor Gold, Nor Buildings Scape Time's Rust; But He Whose Name Is Graved In The White Stone Shall Last And Shine When All Of These Are Gone.

I Prize Thy Love More Than Whole Mines Of Gold Or All The Riches That The East Doth Hold.

If Ever Two Were One, Then Surely We. If Ever Man Were Lov'd By Wife, Then Thee; If Ever Wife Was Happy In A Man, Compare With Me, Ye Women, If You Can I Prize Thy Love More Than Whole Mines Of Gold. Or All The Riches That The East Doth Hold. My Love Is Such That Rivers Cannot Quench, Nor Ought But Love From Thee, Give Recompense. Thy Love Is Such I Can No Way Repay, The Heavens Reward Thee Manifold Repay, Then While We Live, In Love Let's So Persevere That When We Live No More, We May Live Ever.

He That Would Be Content With A Mean Condition Must Not Cast His Eye Upon One That Is In A Far Better Estate Than Himself, But Let Him Look Upon Him That Is Lower Than He Is, And, If He See That Such A One Bears Poverty Comfortably, It Will Help To Quiet Him.

I Wish My Sun May Never Set, But Burn.