Truth Needs No Color; Beauty,

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounce It To You, Trippingly On The Tongue; But If You Mouth It, As Many Of Your Players Do, I Had As Lief The Town-crier Spoke My Lines.

Upon Thy Cheek I Lay This Zealous Kiss, As Seal To The Indenture Of My Love.

If Ever (as That Ever May Be Near) You Meet In Some Fresh Cheek The Power Of Fancy, Then Shall You Know The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen, Arrows Make.

I Would That I Were Low Laid In My Grave. I Am Not Worth This Coil That's Made For Me.

How Can Tyrants Safely Govern Home, Unless Abroad They Purchase Great Alliance.