Misery Acquaints A Man With Strange Bedfellows.

Be As Just And Gracious Unto Me, As I Am Confident And Kind To Thee.

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension, And The Poor Beetle, That We Tread Upon, In Corporal Sufferance Finds A Pang As Great As When A Giant Dies.

I Am Falser Than Vows Made In Wine.

My Crown Is In My Heart, Not On My Head.

She Moves Me Not, Or Not Removes At Least Affection's Edge In Me.