The Heart Hath Treble Wrong

Of All Base Passions, Fear Is The Most Accursed.

Good Hay, Sweet Hay, Hath No Fellow.

I Had Rather Be A Toad, And Live Upon The Vapor Of A Dungeon Than Keep A Corner In The Thing I Love For Others Uses.

All Hoods Make Not Monks.

And To Be Merry Best Becomes You; For, Out Of Question, You Were Born In A Merry Hour. Beatrice No, Sure, My Lord, My Mother Cried; But Then There Was A Star Danced, And Under That Was I Born.