The End Crowns All, And That Old

Comets Importing Change Of Times And States, Brandish Your Crystal Tresses In The Sky And With Them Scourge The Bad Revolting Stars.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

Pain Pays The Income Of Each Precious Thing.

My Love Is Thaw'd; Which, Like A Waxen Image 'gainst A Fire, Bears No Impression Of The Thing It Was

His Words Are Bonds, His Oaths Are Oracles; His Love Sincere, His Thoughts Immaculate; His Tears Pure Messengers Sent From His Heart; His Heart As Far From Fraud, As Heaven From Earth