Sycorax Has Grown Into A Hoop

The Wound Of Peace Is Surety, Surety Secure.

Chewing The Food Of Sweet And Bitter Fancy.

Love's Fire Heats Water, Water Cools Not Love.

Winter, Which, Being Full Of Care, Makes Summer's Welcome Thrice More Wish'd, More Rare.

Be Wise As Thou Art Cruel, Do Not Press My Tongue-tied Patience With Too Much Disdain: Lest Sorrow Lend Me Words And Words Express, The Manner Of My Pity-wanting Pain.