The Breach Of Custom Is Breach Of

Take It In What Sense Thou Wilt.

There Was Never Yet Philosopher That Could Endure The Toothache Patiently

My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun

O, Spirit Of Love, How Quick And Fresh Art Thou!

We Make Trifles Of Terrors, Ensconcing Ourselves Into Seeming Knowledge, When We Should Submit Ourselves To An Unknown Fear.