Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent.

Maids Want Nothing But Husbands, And When They Have Them, They Want Everything.

When Great Leaves Fall, The Winter Is At Hand.

Join Not With Grief, Fair Woman, Do Not So, To Make My End Too Sudden.

Call Me What Instrument You Will, Though You Can Fret Me, You Cannot Play Upon Me.

O, Reason Not The Need!