What's His Offense? Groping For Trout In

It Is That Fery Person For All The Orld, As Just As You Will Desire; And Seven Hundred Pounds Of Moneys, And Gold, And Silver, Is Her Grandsire Upon His Death's-bed-got Deliver To A Joyful Resurrections!

Though Death Be Poor, It Ends A Mortal Woe.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day? Thou Art More Lovely And More Temperate: Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May, And Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date . . .

The End Crowns All, And That Old Common Arbitrator, Time, Will One Day End It.

There's Husbandry In Heaven; Their Candles Are All Out.