Take Pains. Be Perfect.

Love Is A Wonderful, Terrible Thing

Being Daily Swallowed By Men's Eyes, They Surfeited With Honey And Began To Loathe The Taste Of Sweetness, Whereof A Little More Than A Little Is By Much Too Much. So, When He Had Occasion To Be Seen, He Was But As The Cuckoo Is In June. Heard, Not Regarded.

The Lily I Condemned For Thy Hand, And Buds Of Marjoram Had Stol'n Thy Hair: The Roses Fearfully On Thorns Did Stand, One Blushing Shame, Another White Despair; A Third, Nor Red Nor White, Had Stol'n Of Both And To His Robbery Had Annex'd Thy Breath; But, For His Theft, In Pride Of All His Growth A Vengeful Canker Eat Him Up To Death. More Flowers I Noted, Yet I None Could See But Sweet Or Colour It Had Stol'n From Thee.

What's In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.

You Had Measured How Long A Fool You Were Upon The Ground.