Heat Not A Furnace For Your Foe

Now Stand You On The Top Of Happy Hours, And Many Maiden Gardens Yet Unset, With Virtuous Wish Would Bear You Living Flowers, Much Liker Than Your Painted Counterfeit: So Should The Lines Of Life That Life Repair Which This, Time's Pencil, Or My Pupil Pen Neither In Inward Worth Nor Outward Fair Can Make You Live Your Self In Eyes Of Men.

Presume Not That I Am The Thing I Was.

Drink Down All Unkindness.

Men Should Be What They Seem.

Through The Forest Have I Gone. But Athenian Found I None, On Whose Eyes I Might Approve This Flower's Force In Stirring Love. Night And Silence.--who Is Here? Weeds Of Athens He Doth Wear: This Is He, My Master Said, Despised The Athenian Maid; And Here The Maiden, Sleeping Sound, On The Dank And Dirty Ground. Pretty Soul! She Durst Not Lie Near This Lack-love, This Kill-courtesy. Churl, Upon Thy Eyes I Throw All The Power This Charm Doth Owe. When Thou Wakest, Let Love Forbid Sleep His Seat On Thy Eyelid: So Awake When I Am Gone; For I Must Now To Oberon.