Ingratitude Is Monstrous.

I Would With Such Perfection Govern, Sir, T'excel The Golden Age.

Comets Importing Change Of Times And States, Brandish Your Crystal Tresses In The Sky And With Them Scourge The Bad Revolting Stars.

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.

We That Are True Lovers Run Into Strange Capers.

Look, What A Horse Should Have He Did Not Lack, Save A Proud Rider On His Back.