Is It Not Strange, That

I Am Not Only Witty In Myself, But The Cause That Wit Is In Other Men.

Now All The Youth Of England Are On Fire, And Silken Dalliance In The Wardrobe Lies; Now Thrive The Armorers, And Honor's Thought Reigns Solely In The Breast Of Every Man.

Why, All Delights Are Vain; But That Most Vain, Which, With Pain Purchas'd, Doth Inherit Pain.

O, When She's Angry, She Is Keen And Shrewd! She Was A Vixen When She Went To School; And Though She Be But Little, She Is Fierce.

The Hind That Would Be Mated By The Lion Must Die For Love.