Thus May Poor Fools Belive False Teachers.

Or Are You Like The Painting Of A Sorrow, A Face Without A Heart?

Cupid Is A Knavish Lad, Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.

Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds, Or Bends With The Remover To Remove. O, No! It Is An Ever-fixed Mark, That Looks On Tempests And Is Never Shaken. It Is The Star To Every Wandering Bark, Whose Worth's Unknown, Although His Height Be Taken.

He Kills Her In Her Own Humor.

He That Will Have A Cake Out Of The Wheat Must Tarry The Grinding.