For They Are Yet Ear-kissing

But Here's The Joy: My Friend And I Are One, Sweet Flattery!

Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I A Vine.

Faults That Are Rich Are Fair.

Time, Whose Millioned Accidents Creep In Betwixt Vows, And Change Decrees Of Kings, Tan Sacred Beauty, Blunt The Sharpest Intents, Divert Strong Minds To The Course Of Altering Things.

After Your Death You Were Better Have A Bad Epitaph Than Their Ill Report While You Live.