Welcome Ever Smiles, And Farewell

When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought I Summon Up Remembrance Of Things Past, I Sigh The Lack Of Many A Thing I Sought.

Rude Am I In My Speech, And Little Blessed With The Soft Phrase Of Peace.

Music, Moody Food Of Us That Trade In Love.

O, Beware, My Lord, Of Jealousy; It Is The Green-ey'd Monster, Which Doth Mock The Meat It Feeds On.

If The Skin Were Parchment And The Blows You Gave Were Ink, Your Own Handwriting Would Tell You What I Think.