And Blind Oblivion Swallowed Cities Up.

I Praise God For You, Sir: Your Reasons At Dinner Have Been Sharp And Sententious; Pleasant Without Scurrility, Witty Without Affectation, Audacious Without Impudency, Learned Without Opinion, And Strange With-out Heresy.

The Moon's An Arrant Thief, And Her Pale Fire She Snatches From The Sun.

Mirth Cannot Move A Soul In Agony.

My Master Hath Been An Honorable Gentleman; Tricks He Hath Had In Him Which Gentlemen Have.

The Sweetest Honey Is Loathsome In His Own Deliciousness, And In The Taste Confounds The Appetite: Therefore Love Moderately— Long Love Doth So.