When Our Actions Do Not, Our Fears

Let's Take The Instant By The Forward Top; For We Are Old, And On Our Quick'st Decrees The Inaudible And Noiseless Foot Of Time Steals Ere We Can Effect Them.

O Faithless Coward! O Dishonest Wretch! Wilt Thou Be Made A Man Out Of My Vice?

None Can Cure Their Harms By Wailing Them.

I Have Thought Some Of Nature's Journeymen Had Made Men And Not Made Them Well, They Imitated Humanity So Abominably.

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.