Who Are The Violets Now That Strew

I Can Again Thy Former Light Restore, Should I Repent Me: But Once Put Out Thy Light, Thou Cunning'st Pattern Of Excelling Nature, I Know Not Where Is That Promethean Heat That Can Thy Light Relume.

Thy Food Is Such As Hath Been Belch'd On By Infected Lungs.

Men Prize The Thing Ungained More Than It Is.

Men Have Died From Time To Time, And Worms Have Eaten Them, But Not For Love.

Away! Thou'rt Poison To My Blood.