She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs.

Talking Isn't Doing. It Is A Kind Of Good Deed To Say Well; And Yet Words Are Not Deeds.

Angels And Ministers Of Grace Defend Us! Be Thou A Spirit Of Health, Or Goblin Damn'd, Bring With Thee Airs From Heaven, Or Blasts From Hell, Be Thy Intents Wicked, Or Charitable, Thou Com'st In Such A Questionable Shape, That I Will Speak To Thee.

A Young Man Married Is A Man That's Marred.

Grim-visaged War Hath Smoothed His Wrinkled Front; And Now, Instead Of Mounting Barbed Steeds To Fright The Souls Of Fearful Adversaries, He Capers Nimbly In A Lady's Chamber To The Lascivious Pleasing Of A Lute.

He Jests At Scars That Never Felt A Wound.