Where Hateful Death Put On His Ugliest

Never Anger Made Good Guard For Itself.

Yet Mark'd I Where The Bolt Of Cupid Fell: It Fell Upon A Little Western Flower, Before Milk-white, Now Purple With Love's Wound, And Maidens Call It Love-in-idleness.

If It Were Done When 'tis Done, Then 'twere Well. It Were Done Quickly.

Who Riseth From A Feast With That Keen Appetite That He Sits Down?

He That Is Truly Dedicated To War Hath No Self-love