Don't Trust The Person Who Has Broken

Now, My Co-mates And Brothers In Exile, Hath Not Old Custom Made This Life More Sweet Than That Of Painted Pomp? Are Not These Woods More Free From Peril Than The Envious Court?

Death, Not Romeo, Take My Maidenhead!

Grim-visaged War Hath Smoothed His Wrinkled Front; And Now, Instead Of Mounting Barbed Steeds To Fright The Souls Of Fearful Adversaries, He Capers Nimbly In A Lady's Chamber To The Lascivious Pleasing Of A Lute.

I Do Beseech You- Though I Perchance Am Vicious In My Guess , That Your Wisdom Yet From One That So Imperfectly Conjects Would Take No Notice, Nor Build Yourself A Trouble Out Of His Scattering And Unsure Observance.

Sleep Dwell Upon Thine Eyes, Peace In Thy Breast! Would I Were Sleep And Peace, So Sweet To Rest.