Nothing But Man Of All Envenomed Things,

But I Do Nothing Upon Myself, And Yet I Am My Own Executioner.

A Mathematical Point Is The Most Indivisble And Unique Thing Which Art Can Present.

...whatever Dies Was Not Mixed Equally, If Our Two Loves Be One Or Thou And I Love So Alike That None Can Slacken, None Can Die.

Poetry Is A Counterfeit Creation, And Makes Things That Are Not, As Though They Were

I Wonder By My Troth, What Thou, And I Did, Till We Loved? Were We Not Weaned Till Then? But Sucked On Country Pleasures, Childishly? Or Snorted We In The Seven Sleepers' Den?