I Am Wrapped In Dismal Thinking.

Gentle And Low, An Excellent Thing In Woman.

I Humbly Do Beseech Of Your Pardon, For Too Much Loving You

That Thou Art Blamed Shall Not Be Thy Defect, For Slander's Mark Was Ever Yet The Fair; The Ornament Of Beauty Is Suspect, A Crow That Flies In Heaven's Sweetest Air.

Conscience Is A Thousand Swords.

Men Judge By The Complexion Of The Sky The State And Inclination Of The Day.