What's The News? None, My Lord, But

As Chaste As Is The Bud Ere It Be Blown.

Of All The Flowers, Me Thinks A Rose Is Best.

Better A Witty Fool Than A Foolish Wit.

The Brightness Of Her Cheek Would Shame Those Stars As Daylight Doth A Lamp; Her Eyes In Heaven Would Through The Airy Region Stream So Bright That Birds Would Sing, And Think It Were Not Night.

The Tongues Of Mocking Wenches Are As Keen As Is The Razor's Edge Invisible.