The Sight Of Lovers Feedeth Those In

Wisdom And Goodness To The Vile Seem Vile; Filths Savour But Themselves.

I Do Desire We May Be Better Strangers.

Uneasy Lies The Head That Wears A Crown.

Sweet Recreation Barred, What Doth Ensue But Moody And Dull Melancholy, Kinsman To Grim And Comfortless Despair.

Who Alone Suffers Suffers Most I' Th' Mind, Leaving Free Things And Happy Shows Behind; But Then The Mind Much Sufferance Doth O'erskip When Grief Hath Mates, And Bearing Fellowship.