What, No More Ceremony? See, My Women!

Sleep Dwell Upon Thine Eyes, Peace In Thy Breast! Would I Were Sleep And Peace, So Sweet To Rest.

There's Her Cousin, An She Were Not Possessed With A Fury, Exceeds Her As Much In Beauty As The First Of May Doth The Last Of December.

Prosperity's The Very Bond Of Love, Whose Fresh Complexion And Whose Heart Together Affliction Alters.

The Weakest Goes To The Wall.

When Truth Kills Truth, O Devilish Holy Fray!