He That Is Thy Friend Indeed, He

That You Were Once Unkind Befriends Me Now, And For That Sorrow, Which I Then Did Feel, Needs Must I Under My Transgression Bow, Unless My Nerves Were Brass Or Hammered Steel.

O, Swear Not By The Moon, The Fickle Moon, The Inconstant Moon, That Monthly Changes In Her Circle Orb, Lest That Thy Love Prove Likewise Variable

I Fill Up A Place, Which May Be Better... When I Have Made It Empty.

It Is Meant That Noble Minds Keep Ever With Their Likes; For Who So Firm That Cannot Be Seduced.

I Am Too Old To Fawn Upon A Nurse, Too Far In Years To Be A Pupil Now.