Sin Will Pluck On Sin.

Hamlet: Is This A Prologue, Or The Posy Of A Ring? Ophelia: 'tis Brief, My Lord. Hamlet: As Woman's Love.

Sweetest Nut Hath Sourest Rind.

Desperate Times Breed Desperate Measures

This Above All; To Thine Own Self Be True.

So Holy And So Perfect Is My Love, And I In Such A Poverty Of Grace, That I Shall Think It A Most Plenteous Crop To Glean The Broken Ears After The Man That The Main Harvest Reaps.