The Due Of Honor In No Point

To Be In Love, Where Scorn Is Bought With Groans; Coy Looks, With Heart-sore Sighs; One Fading Moment's Mirth

Thanks, Sir; All The Rest Is Mute.

The Apparel Oft Proclaims The Man.

When We Are Born We Cry That We Are Come To This Great Stage Of Fools.

The Moon's An Arrant Thief, And Her Pale Fire She Snatches From The Sun.