Who Are The Violets Now That Strew

Here, Thou Incestuous, Murderous, Damned Dane, Drink Off This Potion!

After Your Death You Were Better Have A Bad Epitaph Than Their Ill Report While You Live.

You Saw Her Fair, None Else Being By, Herself Pois'd With Herself In Either Eye; But In That Crystal Scales Let There Be Weigh'd Your Lady's Love Against Some Other Maid That I Will Show You Shining At This Feast, And She Shall Scant Show Well That Now Seems Best.

Take All The Swift Advantage Of The Hours.

I'll Note You In My Book Of Memory.