Gold Were As Good As Twenty Orators.

A Golden Mind Stoops Not To Shows Of Dross.

I'll Be Damned For Never A King's Son In Christendom.

No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead Than You Shall Hear The Surly Sullen Bell Give Warning To The World That I Am Fled From This Vile World With Vilest Worms To Dwell: Nay, If You Read This Line, Remember Not The Hand That Writ It, For I Love You So, That I In Your Sweet Thoughts Would Be Forgot, If Thinking On Me Then Should Make You Woe. O! If, I Say, You Look Upon This Verse When I Perhaps Compounded Am With Clay, Do Not So Much As My Poor Name Rehearse; But Let Your Love Even With My Life Decay; Lest The Wise World Should Look Into Your Moan, And Mock You With Me After I Am Gone.

For My Part, If A Lie May Do Thee Grace, I'll Gild It With The Happiest Terms I Have.

Can It Be Chat Modesty May More Betray Our Sense Than Woman's Lightness?