Valor Is Abased By Too Much Loftiness.

Woman Was Formed To Admire; Man To Be Admirable. His Are The Glories Of The Sun At Noonday; Hers The Softened Splendors Of The Midnight Moon.

Those Lovers Scorn Whom That Love Doth Possess? Do They Call Virtue There Ungratefulness?

Who Will Ever Give Counsel, If The Counsel Be Judged By The Event, And If It Be Not Found Wise, Shall Therefore Be Thought Wicked?

Approved Valor Is Made Precious By Natural Courtesy.

Ring Out Your Bells! Let Mourning Show Be Spread! For Love Is Dead.