It Hurts Not The Tongue To Give

Vaulting Ambition, Which O'erleaps Itself And Falls On The Other Side

This Blessèd Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England This Nurse, This Teeming Womb Of Royal Kings, . . . This Land Of Such Dear Souls, This Dear Dear Land.

A Very Little Thief Of Occasion Will Rob You Of A Great Deal Of Patience.

If Thou Engrossest All The Griefs Are Thine, Thou Robb'st Me Of A Moiety.

Come, Woo Me, Woo Me, For Now I Am In A Holiday Humor, And Like Enough To Consent.