You Are Strangely Troublesome.

I Will Chide No Breather In The World But Myself, Against Whom I Know Most Faults.

The Weary Sun Hath Made A Golden Set And By The Bright Tract Of His Fiery Car Gives Token Of A Goodly Day To-morrow.

My Noble Father, I Do Perceive Here A Divided Duty. To You I Am Bound For Life And Education. My Life And Education Both Do Learn Me How To Respect You. You Are The Lord Of My Duty, I Am Hitherto Your Daughter. But Here’s My Husband, And So Much Duty As My Mother Showed To You, Preferring You Before Her Father, So Much I Challenge That I May Profess Due To The Moor My Lord.

If Love Be Blind, It Best Agrees With Night

Can You Nominate In Order Now The Degrees Of The Lie? I Will Name You The Degrees. The First, The Retort Courteous; The Second, The Quip Modest; The Third, The Reply Churlish; The Fourth, The Reproof Valiant; The Fifth; The Countercheck Quarrelsome; The Sixth, The Lie With Circumstance; The Seventh, The Lie Direct. All These You May Avoid But The Lie Direct; And You May Avoid That Too, With An If. . . . Your If Is The Only Peace-maker; Much Virtue In If.