Music, Moody Food Of Us That Trade

Lady, You Are The Cruel'st She Alive If You Will Lead These Graces To The Grave And Leave The World No Copy.

My Only Love Sprung From My Only Hate! Too Early Seen Unknown, And Known Too Late! Prodigious Birth Of Love It Is To Me, That I Must Love A Loathed Enemy.

I Have No Other But A Woman's Reason: I Think Him So, Because I Think Him So.

For Youth No Less Becomes The Light And Careless Livery That It Wears, Than Settled Age His Sables, And His Weeds Importing Health And Graveness.

Thou Art The Mars Of Malcontents.