Thou Art The Mars Of

Sweet Beatrice, Wouldst Thou Come When I Called Thee? Beatrice Yea, Signior, And Depart When You Bid Me. Benedick O, Stay But Till Then! Beatrice 'then' Is Spoken; Fare You Well Now... (much Ado About Nothing)

Study Is Like The Heaven's Glorious Sun, That Will Not Be Deep-searched With Saucy Looks: Small Have Continual Plodders Ever Won, Save Base Authority From Others' Books.

Sweet Flowers Are Slow And Weeds Make Haste.

Bid The Dishonest Man Mend Himself; If He Mend, He Is No Longer Dishonest.

The Tongues Of Mocking Wenches Are As Keen As Is The Razor's Edge Invisible.