Nay, I Am The Very Pink Of

For We, Which Now Behold These Present Days, Have Eyes To Wonder, But Lack Tongues To Praise.

The Very Substance Of The Ambitious Is Merely The Shadow Of A Dream.

For You And I Are Past Our Dancing Days.

Virtue Is Chok'd With Foul Ambition

But Earthlier Happy Is The Rose Distill'd Than That Which Withering On The Virgin Thorn Grows, Lives, And Dies In Single Blessedness.