Two Stars Keep Not Their Motion In

The Soul Of This Man Is His Clothes.

If Little Faults Proceeding On Distemper Shall Not Be Winked At, How Shall We Stretch Our Eye When Capital Crimes, Chewed, Swallowed, And Digested, Appear Before Us?

A Dream Itself Is But A Shadow.

I’ll Look To Like, If Looking Liking Move; But No More Deep Will I Endart Mine Eye Than Your Consent Gives Strength To Make It Fly.

Ay, Is It Not A Language I Speak?