The Undeserver May Sleep When The Man

The Tongues Of Mocking Wenches Are As Keen As Is The Razor's Edge Invisible.

What, No More Ceremony? See, My Women! Against The Blown Rose May They Stop Their Nose That Kneel'd Unto The Buds.

Love Moderately; Long Love Doth So; Too Swift Arrives As Tardy As Too Slow.

O, I Do Not Like That Paying Back, 'tis A Double Labor.

The Thorny Point Of Bare Distress Hath Ta'en From Me The Show Of Smooth Civility; Yet Am I Inland Bred And Know Some Nurture.