O, I Do Not Like

We Wound Our Modesty And Make Foul The Clearness Of Our Deservings, When Of Ourselves We Publish Them.

Lady, With Me, With Me Thy Fortune Lies.

All His Successors Gone Before Him Have Done 't; And All His Ancestors That Come After Him May.

I Am Not Merry, But I Do Beguile The Thing I Am By Seeming Otherwise.

Oh Why Rebuke You Him That Loves You So? / Lay Breath So Bitter On Your Bitter Foe.