It Is Great Sin To

We Cannot Fight For Love, As Men May Do; We Shou'd Be Woo'd, And Were Not Made To Woo

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.

Had I But Died An Hour Before This Chance, I Had Liv'd A Blessed Time; For, From This Instant, There's Nothing Serious In Mortality: All Is But Toys; Renown, And Grace Is Dead; The Wine Of Life Is Drawn, And The Mere Lees Is Left This Vault To Brag Of.

Gratiano Speaks An Infinite Deal Of Nothing, More Than Any Man In All Venice. His Reasons Are As Two Grains Of Wheat Hid In Two Bushels Of Chaff: You Shall Seek All Day Ere You Find Them, And When You Have Them, They Are Not Worth The Search.

Experience Teacheth That Resolution Is A Sole Help In Need.