Mine Eyes Smell Onions: I Shall Weep

How Easy It Is For The Proper-false In Woman's Waxen Hearts To Set Their Forms!

Keep Up Your Bright Swords, For The Dew Will Rust Them.

Prosperity's The Very Bond Of Love.

And Thus I Clothe My Naked Villainy With Odd Old Ends Stol'n Out Of Holy Writ; And Seem A Saint, When Most I Play The Devil.

Mend When Thou Canst; Be Better At Thy Leisure.