I Almost Die For Food, And Let

For It Falls Out That What We Have We Prize Not To The Worth Whiles We Enjoy It, But Being Lacked And Lost, Why, Then We Rack The Value, Then We Find The Virtue That Possession Would Not Show Us While It Was Ours.

Things Without All Remedy Should Be Without Regard: What's Done Is Done.

Could Beauty, My Lord, Have Better Commerce Than With Honesty?

Thus Weary Of The World, Away She Hies, And Yokes Her Silver Doves; By Whose Swift Aid Their Mistress Mounted Through The Empty Skies In Her Light Chariot Quickly Is Convey'd; Holding Their Course To Paphos, Where Their Queen Means To Immure Herself And Not Be Seen.

Now, Infidel, I Have You On The Hip!