Things In Motion Sooner Catch

The Moon Of Rome, Chaste As The Icicle That's Curded By The Frost From Purest Snow.

I Have Heard Of Your Paintings Too, Well Enough; God Has Given You One Face, And You Make Yourselves Another: You Jig, You Amble, And You Lisp, And Nick-name God's Creatures, And Make Your Wantonness Your Ignorance. Go To, I'll No More On't; It Hath Made Me Mad.

If Love Be Blind, It Best Agrees With Night

Better Three Hours Too Soon Than A Minute Too Late.

My Salad Days, When I Was Green In Judgment.