So Foul And Fair A Day I

But Earthlier Happy Is The Rose Distill'd Than That Which Withering On The Virgin Thorn Grows, Lives, And Dies In Single Blessedness.

Love Does Not See With The Eyes, But With The Soul.

This World To Me Is Like A Lasting Storm,whirring Me From My Friends.

Death, Not Romeo, Take My Maidenhead!

Thrice Is He Arm'd That Hath His Quarrel Just, And He But Naked, Though Lock'd Up In Steel, Whose Conscience With Injustice Is Corrupted.