If You Prick Us Do

Do Not Cast Away An Honest Man For A Villain's Accusation.

Our Praises Are Our Wages.

Gives Not The Hawthorn Bush A Sweeter Shade To Shepherds, Looking On Their Silly Sheep, Than Doth A Rich Embroider'd Canopy To Kings That Fear Their Subjects Treachery?

To You Your Father Should Be As A God; One That Composed Your Beauties, Yea, And One To Whom You Are But As A Form In Wax, By Him Imprinted, And Within His Power To Leave The Figure Or Disfigure It.

Time Doth Transfix The Flourish Set On Youth And Delves The Parallels In Beauty's Brow.