Nothing Comes Amiss, So Money Comes Withal.

My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me

Let Me Be Ignorant, And In Nothing Good, But Graciously To Know I Am No Better.

Within The Hollow Crown That Rounds The Mortal Temples Of A King Keeps Death His Court.

Sin From Thy Lips? O Trespass Sweetly Urged! Give Me My Sin Again.

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds, That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief?