Ring Out Your Bells! Let Mourning Show

Our Erected Wit Maketh Us To Know What Perfection Is.

My True Love Hath My Heart, And I Have His

Blasphemous Words Betray The Vain Foolishness Of The Speaker.

The Lightsome Countenance Of A Friend Giveth Such An Inward Decking To The House Where It Lodgeth, As Proudest Palaces Have Cause To Envy The Gilding.

I Seek No Better Warrant Than My Own, Conscience.