Words Are Grown So False, I Am

Their Lips Were Four Red Roses On A Stalk.

The Whirligig Of Time Brings In His Revenges.

Love Goes Toward Love.

What The Vengeance, Could He Not Speak 'em Fair?

Let Still Woman Take An Elder Than Herself: So Wears She To Him, So Sways She Level In Her Husband's Heart, For, Boy, However We Do Praise Ourselves, Our Fancies Are More Giddy And Unfirm, More Longing, Wavering, Sooner To Be Lost And Warn, Than Women's Are.