Wisely, I Say, I Am A Bachelor.

Too Nice, And Yet Too True!

O, Let Me Kiss That Hand! King Lear: Let Me Wipe It First; It Smells Of Mortality.

What's The Newest Grief? Each Minute Tunes A New One.

Chain Me With Roaring Bears; Or Shut Me Nightly In A Charnel-house, O'er-covered Quite With Dead Men's Rattling Bones, With Reeky Shanks And Yellow Chapless Skulls; Or Bid Me Go Into A New-made Grave, And Hide Me With A Dead Man In His Shroud; Things That, To Hear Them Told, Have Made Me Tremble; And I Will Do It Without Fear Or Doubt, To Live An Unstain'd Wife Of My Sweet Love.

Thou And I Are Too Wise To Woo Peaceably.