All Dark And Comfortless.

O, Call Back Yesterday, Bid Time Return

What, With My Tongue In Your Tail? Nay, Come Again, Good Kate; I Am A Gentleman.

This Look Of Thine Will Hurl My Soul From Heaven.

Age Cannot Wither Her, Nor Custom Stale Her Infinite Variety.

What, No More Ceremony? See, My Women! Against The Blown Rose May They Stop Their Nose That Kneel'd Unto The Buds.