The Labor We Delight In Physics [cures]

The Band That Seems To Tie Their Friendship Together Will Be The Very Strangler Of Their Amity.

She Moves Me Not, Or Not Removes At Least Affection's Edge In Me.

For Sweetest Things Turn Sourest By Their Deeds; Lillies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.

Greatness Knows Itself.

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, For As You Were When First Your Eye I Eyed, Such Seems Your Beauty Still. Three Winters Cold Have From The Forests Shook Three Summers' Pride, Three Beauteous Springs To Yellow Autumn Turn'd In Process Of The Seasons Have I Seen, Three April Perfumes In Three Hot Junes Burn'd, Since First I Saw You Fresh, Which Yet Are Green.