I Love Thee; None But Thee, And

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

We Are Not Ourselves When Nature, Being Oppressed, Commands The Mind To Suffer With The Body.

Divers Philosophers Hold That The Lips Is Parcel Of The Mouth.

An Angel; Or, If Not, An Earthly Paragon.

Thyself And Thy Belongings Are Not Thine Own So Proper, As To Waste Thyself Upon Thy Virtues, They On Thee. Heaven Doth With Us As We With Torches Do, Not Light Them For Themselves; For If Our Virtues Did Not Go Forth Of Us 't Were All Alike As If We Had Them Not. Spirits Are Not Finely Touch'd But To Fine Issues; Nor Nature Never Lends The Smallest Scruple Of Her Excellence, But, Like A Thrifty Goddess, She Determines Herself The Glory Of A Creditor - Both Thanks And Use.