The Best Is Yet To Come.

Two Women Placed Together Makes Cold Weather.

Virtue Itself Scapes Not Calumnious Strokes.

And When Love Speaks, The Voice Of All The Gods Makes Heaven Drowsy With The Harmony.

There Are A Sort Of Men, Whose Visages Do Cream And Mantle, Like A Standing Pond; And Do A Willful Stillness Entertain, With Purpose To Be Dressed In An Opinion Of Wisdom, Gravity Profound Conceit; As Who Should Say, I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark!

There Was A Star Danced, And Under That Was I Born.