For Here, I Hope, Begins Our Lasting

Can I Go Forward When My Heart Is Here?

Thrust Your Head Into The Public Street, To Gaze On Christian Fools With Varnish'd Faces.

Good Morrow, Fair Ones; Pray You, If You Know, Where In The Purlieus Of This Forest Stands A Sheep-cote Fenc'd About With Olive Trees?

We Will All Laugh At Gilded Butterflies.

Come, Gentlemen, I Hope We Shall Drink Down All Unkindness.