We Should Hold Day With The Antipodes,

Men's Vows Are Women's Traitors

The Sweets We Wish For, Turn To Loathed Sours, Even In The Moment That We Call Them Ours.

It Was Always Yet The Trick Of Our English Nation, If They Have A Good Thing, To Make It Too Common.

Death Is My Son-in-law. Death Is My Heir. My Daughter He Hath Wedded. I Will Die, And Leave Him All. Life, Living, All Is Death’s.

A Peace Is Of The Nature Of A Conquest; For Then Both Parties Nobly Are Subdued, And Neither Party Loser.