They Are Hare-brain'd Slaves.

Young Men's Love Then Lies Not Truly In Their Hearts, But In Their Eyes.

Ay Me! For Aught That I Could Ever Read, Could Ever Hear By Tale Or History, The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth. But, Either It Was Different In Blood,- Or Else It Stood Upon The Choice Of Friends,- Or, If There Were A Sympathy In Choice, War, Death, Or Sickness Did Lay Siege To It.

Loathsome Canker Lives In Sweetest Bud.

Such Antics Do Not Amount To A Man.

For What Good Turn? Messenger: For The Best Turn Of The Bed.