Weep Not, Sweet Queen, For Trickling Tears

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes, Bliss In Our Brows' Bent; None Our Parts So Poor But Was A Race Of Heaven.

It Is A Basilisk Unto Mine Eye, Kills Me To Look On't.

Small Things Make Base Men Proud.

When A Man's Verses Cannot Be Understood, Nor A Man's Good Wit Seconded With The Forward Child Understanding, It Strikes A Man More Dead Than A Great Reckoning In A Little Room. Truly, I Would The Gods Had Made Thee Poetical.

There Was Never Yet Fair Woman But She Made Mouths In A Glass.