Your Face Is A Book, Where Men

The Rarer Action Is In Virtue Than In Vengeance.

I Am A Feather For Each Wind That Blows

I Cannot Draw A Cart, Nor Eat Dried Oats; If It Be Man's Work, I'll Do't.

Could Beauty, My Lord, Have Better Commerce Than With Honesty?

The Tempter Or The Tempted, Who Sins Most? Ha! Not She: Nor Doth She Tempt: But It Is I That, Lying By The Violet In The Sun, Do As The Carrion Does, Not As The Flower, Corrupt With Virtuous Season.