Done To Death By Slanderous Tongue

Lives Like A Drunken Sailor On A Mast, Ready With Every Nod To Tumble Down Into The Fatal Bowels Of The Deep.

What Many Men Desire--that 'many' May Be Meant By The Fool Multitude That Choose By Show, Not Learning More Than The Fond Eye Doth Teach, Which Pries Not To Th' Interior, But Like The Martlet Builds In The Weather On The Outward Wall, Even In The Force And Road Of Casualty.

Thou Weedy Elf-skinned Canker-blossom!

Man And Wife, Being Two, Are One In Love.

I Am The Prince Of Wales; And Think Not, Percy, To Share With Me In Glory Any More: Two Stars Keep Not Their Motion In One Sphere.