My Stronger Guilt Defeats My Strong Intent.

Tis A Happy Thing To Be The Father Unto Many Sons.

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.

A Fool's Bolt Is Soon Shot.

There Live Not Three Good Men Unhanged In England; And One Of Them Is Fat And Grows Old.

Why Then, O Brawling Love! O Loving Hate! O Any Thing, Of Nothing First Create! O Heavy Lightness, Serious Vanity, Misshapen Chaos Of Well-seeming Forms, Feather Of Lead, Bright Smoke, Cold Fire, Sick Health, Still-waking Sleep, That Is Not What It Is! This Love Feel I, That Feel No Love In This.