O Gentle Son, Upon The Heat And

Macbeth To Witches: What Are These So Wither'd And So Wild In Their Attire, That Look Not Like Th' Inhabitants O' Th' Earth, And Yet Are On 't?

The Silence Often Of Pure Innocence Persuades When Speaking Fails.

There's Such Divinity Doth Hedge A King That Treason Can But Peep To What It Would.

Affliction Is Enamoured Of Thy Parts, And Thou Art Wedded To Calamity.

Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus Or Thus. Our Bodies Are Our Gardens To The Which Our Wills Are Gardeners.