Cupid Is A Knavish Lad, Thus To

I Can Again Thy Former Light Restore, Should I Repent Me: But Once Put Out Thy Light, Thou Cunning'st Pattern Of Excelling Nature, I Know Not Where Is That Promethean Heat That Can Thy Light Relume.

For Brutus, As You Know, Was Caesar's Angel: Judge, O You Gods, How Dearly Caesar Loved Him! This Was The Most Unkindest Cut Of All

My Crown Is Called Content, A Crown That Seldom Kings Enjoy.

A Jest's Prosperity Lies In The Ear Of Him That Hears It, Never In The Tongue Of Him That Makes It.

Unsubstantial Death Is Amorous.