In A False Quarrel There Is No

Conceal Me What I Am, And Be My Aid For Such Disguise As Haply Shall Become The Form Of My Intent.

For Conspiracy, I Know Not How It Tastes, Though It Be Dished For Me To Try How.

Be Not Afraid Of Greatness.

In Springtime, The Only Pretty Ring Time Birds Sing, Hey Ding A-ding, A-ding Sweet Lovers Love The Spring—

Earth-treading Stars That Make Dark Heaven Light