Rich Gifts Wax Poor When Givers Prove

They Told Me I Was Everything. 'tis A Lie, I Am Not Ague-proof.

Ay Me! For Aught That Ever I Could Read, Could Ever Hear By Tale Or History, The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth.

Enough No More; Tis Not So Sweet Now As It Was Before.

Good Name In Man And Woman, Dear My Lord, Is The Immediate Jewel Of Their Souls: Who Steals My Purse Steals Trash; ’tis Something, Nothing; ’twas Mine, ’tis His, And Has Been Slave To Thousands; But He That Filches From Me My Good Name Robs Me Of That Which Not Enriches Him, And Makes Me Poor Indeed.

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory.