My Love To Thee Is Sound, Sans

In Sweet Music Is Such Art: Killing Care And Grief Of Heart Fall Asleep, Or Hearing, Die.

I Never Yet Did Hear, That The Bruis'd Heart Was Pierced Through The Ear

A Good Man's Fortune May Grow Out At Heels.

Men In Rage Strike Those That Wish Them Best.

There Is No Sure Foundation Set On Blood, No Certain Life Achieved By Others' Death.