Beauty Within Itself Should Not Be Wasted.

Sir, The Year Growing Ancient, Not Yet On Summer's Death Nor On The Birth Of Trembling Winter, The Fairest Flowers O' Th' Season Are Our Carnations And Streaked Gillyvors, Which Some Call Nature's Bastards.

Who Riseth From A Feast With That Keen Appetite That He Sits Down?

This Is A Way To Kill A Wife With Kindness.

Report Me And My Cause Aright.

Know My Name Is Lost, By Treason's Tooth Bare-gnawn And Canker-bit; Yet Am I Noble As The Adversary I Come To Cope.