Being Holiday, The Beggar's Shop Is Shut.

Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May.

Thou Unfit For Any Place But Hell.

My Thoughts Are Whirled Like A Potter's Wheel; I Know Not Where I Am Nor What I Do.

Full Many A Lady I Have Eyed With Best Regard, And Many A Time Th' Harmony Of Their Tongues Hath Into Bondage Brought My Too Diligent Ear; For Several Virtues Have I Liked Several Women; Never Any With So Full Soul But Some Defect In Her Did Quarrel With The Noblest Grace She Owed, And Put It To The Foil.

Is It Not Strange That Desire Should So Many Years Outlive Performance?