Women Are Like The Arts, Forced Unto

Our Two Souls Therefore, Which Are One, Though I Must Go, Endure Not Yet A Breach, But An Expansion, Like Gold To Airy Thinness Beat. If They Be Two, They Are Two So As Stiff Twin Compasses Are Two; Thy Soul, The Fixed Foot, Makes No Show To Move, But Doth If Th' Other Do. And Though It In The Center Sit, Yet When The Other Far Doth Roam, It Leans And Hearkens After It, And Grows Erect, As That Comes Home. Suth Wilt Thou Be To Me, Who Must Like Th' Other Foot, Obliquely Run; Thy Firmness Makes My Circle Just, And Makes Me End Where I Began.

Thou Art Slave To Fate, Chance, Kings, And Desperate Men, And Dost With Poison, War, And Sickness Dwell, And Poppy, Or Charms, Can Make Us Sleep As Well, And Better Than Thy Stroke. Why Swell'st Thou Then?

The Rich Have No More Of The Kingdom Of Heaven Than They Have Purchased Of The Poor By Their Alms.

Who Are A Little Wise The Best Fools Be.

To Be No Part Of Any Body, Is To Be Nothing.