Nothing Can Seem Foul To Those Who

But Whate'er I Am, Nor I Nor Any Man That But Man Is, With Nothing Shall Be Pleased 'til He Be Eased With Being Nothing.

I Crave Fit Disposition For My Wife; Due Reference Of Place, And Exhibition; With Such Accommodation, And Besort, As Levels With Her Breeding.

O Father Abram, What These Christians Are, Whose Own Hard Dealing Teaches Them Suspect The Thoughts Of Others!

Thou Art Thy Mother's Glass, And She In Thee Calls Back The Lovely April Of Her Prime...

Murder Most Foul, As In The Best It It; But This Most Foul, Strange, And Unnatural.