Words Without Thoughts Never To

Spirits Are Not Finely Touched But To Fine Issues, Nor Nature Never Lends The Smallest Scruple Of Her Excellence But Like A Thrifty Goddess She Determines Herself The Glory Of A Creditor,both Thanks And Use.

Now The Time Is Come, That France Must Veil Her Lofty-plumed Crest, And Let Her Head Fall Into England's Lap.

We Will All Laugh At Gilded Butterflies.

Good Morning To You, Fair And Gracious Daughter.

If After Every Tempest Come Such Calms, May The Winds Blow Till They Have Waken'd Death!