Wolves And Bears, They Say, Casting Their

Some Grief Shows Much Of Love, But Much Of Grief Shows Still Some Want Of Wit.

They Do Not Love That Do Not Show Their Love. The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth. Love Is A Familiar. Love Is A Devil. There Is No Evil Angel But Love.

As Love Is Full Of Unbefitting Strains, All Wanton As A Child, Skipping And Vain, Form'd By The Eye And Therefore, Like The Eye, Full Of Strange Shapes, Of Habits And Of Forms, Varying In Subjects As The Eye Doth Roll To Every Varied Object In His Glance

His Worst Fault Is, He's Given To Prayer; He Is Something Peevish That Way.

Ambition's Debt Is Paid.