Love Is Blind, It Stops Lovers Seeing

Heaven Would That She These Gifts Should Have, And I To Live And Die Her Slave.

Four Days Will Quickly Steep Themselves In Nights; Four Nights Will Quickly Dream Away The Time; And Then The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow New Bent In Heaven, Shall Behold The Night Of Our Solemnities.

Sick In The World's Regard, Wretched And Low.

The Gods Are Just, And Of Our Pleasant Vices Make Instruments To Plague Us.

There's Daggers In Men's Smiles.