So May He Rest, His Faults Lie

I Am Not Mad; I Would To Heaven I Were! For Then, 'tis Like I Should Forget Myself; O, If I Could, What Grief Should I Forget!

Modest Wisdom Plucks Me From Over-credulous Haste.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

What Though Care Killed A Cat, Thou Hast Mettle Enough In Thee To Kill Care.

I Never Yet Did Hear, That The Bruis'd Heart Was Pierced Through The Ear