The Devil Hath Power To

I Am But Mad North-north-west. When The Wind Is Southerly, I Know A Hawk From A Handsaw.

Can It Be That Modesty May More Betray Our Sense Than Woman's Lightness? Having Waste Ground Enough, Shall We Desire To Raze The Sanctuary And Pitch Our Evils There?

I Would With Such Perfection Govern, Sir, T'excel The Golden Age.

Taste Your Legs, Sire: Put Them Into Motion.

The Liquid Drops Of Tears That You Have Shed Shall Come Again, Transform'd To Orient Pearl, Advantaging Their Loan With Interest Of Ten Times Double Gain Of Happiness.