I Have Unclasp'd To Thee The Book

I Had As Lief Have Been Myself Alone.

What Should We Speak Of When We Are Old As You? When We Shall Hear The Rain And Wind Beat Dark December? How, In This Our Pinching Cave, Shall We Discourse The Freezing Hours Away?

Come, Woo Me, Woo Me, For Now I Am In A Holiday Humor, And Like Enough To Consent.

Sweet Are The Uses Of Adversity

But No Perfection Is So Absolute, That Some Impurity Doth Not Pollute.