This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To

I Will Not Be Sworn But Love May Transform Me To An Oyster

Two Stars Keep Not Their Motion In One Sphere.

The Crow Doth Sing As Sweetly As The Lark When Neither Is Attended; And I Think The Nightingale, If She Should Sing By Day When Every Goose Is Cackling, Would Be Thought No Better A Musician Than The Wren. How Many Thing By Season Seasoned Are To Their Right Praise And True Perfection!

Condemn The Fault And Not The Actor Of It?

O Most Delicate Fiend! Who Is't Can Read A Woman? Is There More?