Tired With All These, For Restful Death

Lovers Can Do Their Amorous Rites By Their Own Beauties

Sweet Mercy Is Nobility's True Badge.

Teach Me, Dear Creature, How To Think And Speak; Lay Open To My Earthy-gross Conceit, Smother'd In Errors, Feeble, Shallow, Weak, The Folded Meaning Of Your Words' Deceit.

The Color Of The King Doth Come And Go, Between His Purpose And His Conscience, Like Heralds 'twixt Two Dreadful Battles Set: His Passion Is So Ripe, It Needs Must Break.

We Must Take The Current When It Serves, Or Lose Our Ventures.