Frailty, Thy Name Is Woman!

When He Shall Die, Take Him And Cut Him Out In Little Stars, And He Will Make The Face Of Heaven So Fine That All The World Will Be In Love With Night And Pay No Worship To The Garish Sun.

Four Days Will Quickly Steep Themselves In Nights; Four Nights Will Quickly Dream Away The Time; And Then The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow New Bent In Heaven, Shall Behold The Night Of Our Solemnities.

I Am Not Merry, But I Do Beguile The Thing I Am By Seeming Otherwise.

Ingrateful Man With Liquorish Draughts, And Morsels Unctuous, Greases His Pure Mind That From It All Consideration Slips.

And How His Audit Stands Who Knows, Save Heaven?