There's Small Choice In Rotten Apples.

Dumb Jewels Often, In Their Silent Kind, More Than Quick Words, Do Move A Woman's Mind.

The Private Wound Is Deepest. O Time Most Accurst, 'mongst All Foes That A Friend Should Be The Worst!

The Rose Looks Fair, But Fairer We It Deem For That Sweet Odour Which Doth In It Live.

That God Forbid, That Made Me First Your Slave, I Should In Thought Control Your Times Of Pleasure, Or At Your Hand Th' Account Of Hours To Crave, Being Your Vassal Bound To Stay Your Leisure.

The Golden Age Is Before Us, Not Behind Us.