What's Done Cannot Be Undone.

Inconstancy Falls Off Ere It Begins.

Call Me What Instrument You Will, Though You Can Fret Me, You Cannot Play Upon Me.

You Blocks, You Stones, You Worse Than Senseless Things!

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

Flower Of This Purple Dye, Hit With Cupid's Archery, Sink In Apple Of His Eye.