Love Laughs At Locksmiths.

That But This Blow Might Be The Be-all And The End-all Here, But Here, Upon This Bank And Shoal Of Time, We'ld Jump The Life To Come.

Till Our King Henry Had Shook Hands With Death.

I Pray You, In Your Letters, When You Shall These Unlucky Deeds Relate, Speak Of Me As I Am; Nothing Extenuate, Nor Set Down Aught In Malice. Then Must You Speak Of One That Loved Not Wisely But Too Well; Of One Not Easily Jealous, But Being Wrought, Perplexed In The Extreme. . .

Like One Who Draws The Model Of A House Beyond His Power To Build It Who, Half Through, Gives O'er, And Leaves His Part-created Cost A Naked Subject To The Weeping Clouds.

A Plague On Both Your Houses.