Golden Lads And Girls All Must As

Within The Hollow Crown That Rounds The Mortal Temples Of A King Keeps Death His Court.

Tell Me Where Is Fancy Bred, Or In The Heart, Or In The Head? How Begot, How Nourished? Reply, Reply. It Is Engend'red In The Eyes, With Gazing Fed, And Fancy Dies In The Cradle Where It Lies.

Silence Is The Perfectest Herald Of Joy: I Were But Little Happy, If I Could Say How Much. Lady, As You Are Mine, I Am Yours: I Give Away Myself For You And Dote Upon The Exchange.

As A Walled Town Is More Worthier Than A Village, So Is The Forehead Of A Married Man More Honorable Than The Bare Brow Of A Bachelor.

Fools Are As Like Husbands As Pilchards Are To Herrings, The Husband's The Bigger.