Striving To Better, Oft We Mar What’s

If I Be Waspish, Best Beware My Sting.

Now Would I Give A Thousand Furlongs Of Sea For An Acre Of Barren Ground.

Journeys End In Lovers Meeting.

I Am Sure, Though You Can Guess What Temperance Should Be, You Know Not What It Is.

Who Would Be So Mocked With Glory, Or To Live But In A Dream Of Friendship, To Have His Pomp And All What State Compounds But Only Painted, Like His Varnished Friends?