For Sorrow Ends Not, When It Seemeth

Do Not Swear By The Moon, For She Changes Constantly. Then Your Love Would Also Change.

Such Tricks Hath Strong Imagination, That, If It Would But Apprehend Some Joy, It Comprehends Some Bringer Of That Joy; Or In The Night, Imagining Some Fear, How Easy Is A Bush Supposed A Bear!

The Bitter Past, More Welcome Is The Sweet.

Better Conquest Never Canst Thou Make Than Arm Thy Constant And Thy Nobler Parts Against Giddy, Loose Suggestions.

Then Love-devouring Death Do What He Dare.