Some Kinds Of Baseness Are Nobly Undergone.

All Thy Vexations Were But My Trials Of Thy Love, And Thou Hast Strangely Stood The Test; Here, Afore Heaven, I Ratify This My Rich Gift.

And The More Pity That Great Folk Should Have Count'nance In This World To Drown Or Hang Themselves More Than Their Even-christen.

I Thought My Heart Had Been Wounded With The Claws Of A Lion.

Talkers Are No Good Doers.

What's The News? None, My Lord, But That The World's Grown Honest, Then Is Doomsday Near.