There's Not A Note Of Mine That's

Demand Me Nothing: What You Know, You Know.

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.

Stars, Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light See My Black And Deep Desires.

Omittance Is No Quittance.

As A Walled Town Is More Worthier Than A Village, So Is The Forehead Of A Married Man More Honorable Than The Bare Brow Of A Bachelor.