I Am Never Merry When

What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks?

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose, And On Old Hiems' Thin And Icy Crown An Odorous Chaplet Of Sweet Summer Buds Is, As In Mockery, Set. The Spring, The Summer, The Childing Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries, And The Mazed World, By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.

Though Those That Are Betray'd Do Feel The Treason Sharply, Yet The Traitor Stands In Worse Case Of Woe

Good Night, Good Night! Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow, That I Shall Say Good Night Till It Be Morrow.

Silence Is Only Commendable In A Neat's Tongue Dried, And A Maid Not Vendible.