I Love Thee; None But Thee, And

Though It Make The Unskillful Laugh, Cannot But Make The Judicious Grieve.

Virtue That Transgresses Is But Patched With Sin; And Sin That Amends Is But Patched With Virtue.

I Have Bought Golden Opinions From All Sorts Of People.

Hamlet: Is This A Prologue, Or The Posy Of A Ring? Ophelia: 'tis Brief, My Lord. Hamlet: As Woman's Love.

Who Would Be So Mocked With Glory, Or To Live But In A Dream Of Friendship, To Have His Pomp And All What State Compounds But Only Painted, Like His Varnished Friends?