The Thorny Point Of Bare Distress Hath

Coal-black Is Better Than Another Hue In That It Scorns To Bear Another Hue; For All The Water In The Ocean Can Never Turn The Swan's Black Legs To White, Although She Lave Them Hourly In The Flood.

I'll Forbear; And Am Fallen Out With My More Headier Will To Take The Indisposed And Sickly Fit For The Sound Man.

I Cannot, Nor I Will Not Hold Me Still; My Tongue, Though Not My Heart, Shall Have His Will.

Better Three Hours Too Soon, Than One Hour To Late.

I Am That Merry Wanderer Of The Night.