You, And Your Lady, Take From My

All Things Are Ready, If Our Mind Be So.

Nature's Tears Are Reason's Merriment.

What If This Cursed Hand Were Thicker Than Itself With Brother's Blood Is There Not Rain Enough In The Sweet Heaves To Wash It White As Snow?

You Speak Like A Green Girl / Unsifted In Such Perilous Circumstances.

Tis An Ill Cook That Cannot Lick His Own Fingers.