Well-apparel'd April On The Heel Of Limping

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

We Must Be Brief When Traitors Brave The Field.

My Age Is As A Lusty Winter, Frosty But Kindly.

For Thou Hast Given Me In This Beauteous Face A World Of Earthly Blessings To My Soul, If Sympathy Of Love Unite Our Thoughts.

Is Not Birth, Beauty, Good Shape, Discourse, Manhood, Learning, Gentleness, Virtue, Youth, Liberality, And Such Like, The Spice And Salt That Season A Man