All Offences Come From The

No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead Than You Shall Hear The Surly Sullen Bell Give Warning To The World That I Am Fled From This Vile World With Vilest Worms To Dwell: Nay, If You Read This Line, Remember Not The Hand That Writ It, For I Love You So, That I In Your Sweet Thoughts Would Be Forgot, If Thinking On Me Then Should Make You Woe. O! If, I Say, You Look Upon This Verse When I Perhaps Compounded Am With Clay, Do Not So Much As My Poor Name Rehearse; But Let Your Love Even With My Life Decay; Lest The Wise World Should Look Into Your Moan, And Mock You With Me After I Am Gone.

It Is A Heretic That Makes The Fire, Not She Which Burns In It.

You Are A Lover. Borrow Cupid's Wings And Soar With Them Above A Common Bound.

This Tyrant, Whose Sole Name Blisters Our Tongues,was Once Thought Honest.

The Last Taste Of Sweets Is Sweetest Last.