There Is No More Mercy In Him

Yon Grey Lines That Fret The Clouds Are Messengers Of Day.

But There Is No Such Man; For, Brother, Men Can Counsel And Speak Comfort To That Grief Which They Themselves Not Feel; But, Tasting It, Their Counsel Turns To Passion, Which Before Would Give Preceptial Medicine To Rage, Fetter Strong Madness In A Silken Thread, Charm Ache With Air And Agony With Words.

Holy, Fair, And Wise Is She; The Heaven Such Grace Did Lend Her, That She Might Admired Be.

I Have Heard Of Some Kind Of Men That Put Quarrels Purposely On Others, To Taste Their Valor.

The Devil Is A Gentleman.