How Now, Wit! Whither Wander

I Dare Do All That May Become A Man; Who Dares Do More, Is None

Scorn, At First, Makes After-love The More.

Absence From Those We Love Is Self From Self - A Deadly Banishment.

If The Boy Have Not A Woman's Gift To Rain A Shower Of Commanded Tears, An Onion Will Do Well For Such A Shift.

Though Fortune's Malice Overthrow My State, My Mind Exceeds The Compass Of Her Wheel.