Suspicion Shall Be All Stuck Full Of

Oh, Injurious Love, That Respites Me A Life, Whose Very Comfort Is Still A Dying Horror

What Must Be Shall Be.

Lilies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.

The Thorny Point Of Bare Distress Hath Ta'en From Me The Show Of Smooth Civility; Yet Am I Inland Bred And Know Some Nurture.

Ay Me! For Aught That Ever I Could Read, Could Ever Hear By Tale Or History, The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth.