If There Is A Good Will, There

Better Be With The Dead, Whom We To Gain Our Peace, Have Sent To Peace, Than On The Torture Of The Mind To Lie In Restless Ecstasy.

Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs.

Fare Thee Well, King: Sith Thus Thou Wilt Appear, Freedom Lives Hence, And Banishment Is Here.

What Drink'st Thou Oft, Instead Of Homage Sweet, But Poisoned Flattery?

Proper Deformity Shows Not In The Fiend So Horrid As In Woman.