My Love Admits No Qualifying Dross

Our Wills And Fates Do So Contrary Run.

Our Jovial Star Reigned At His Birth.

Some Kinds Of Baseness Are Nobly Undergone.

Canst Thou Not Minister To A Mind Diseased, Pluck From The Memory A Rooted Sorrow, Raze Out The Written Troubles Of The Brain

She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs: If Her Breath Were As Terrible As Her Terminations, There Were No Living Near Her; She Would Infect To The North Star. I Would Not Marry Her, Though She Were Endowed With All That Adam Bad Left Him Before He Transgressed.