She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs.

I'll Say She Looks As Clear As Morning Roses Newly Washed With Dew.

I, Measuring His Affections By My Own, Which Then Most Sought Where Most Might Not Be Found, Being One Too Many By My Weary Self, Pursued My Humor Not Pursuing His, And Gladly Shunned Who Gladly Fled From Me.

Unnatural Deeds Do Breed Unnatural Troubles.

That Skull Had A Tongue In It, And Could Sing Once: How The Knave Jowls It To The Ground, As If It Were Cain's Jaw-bone, That Did The First Murder! It Might Be The Pate Of A Politician, Which This Ass Now O'er-reaches; One That Would Circumvent God, Might It Not?

Like A Dull Actor Now, I Have Forgot My Part, And I Am Out, Even To A Full Disgrace.