Two Stars Keep Not Their Motion In

If't Be Summer News, Smile To't Before; If Winterly, Thou Need'st But Keep That Count'nance Still.

Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus Or Thus. Our Bodies Are Our Gardens, To The Which Our Wills Are Gardeners: So That If We Will Plant Nettles, Or Sow Lettuce, Set Hyssop And Weed Up Tine, Supply It With One Gender Of Herbs, Or Distract It With Many, Either To Have It Sterile With Idleness, Or Manured With Industry, Why, The Power And Corrigible Authority Of This Lies In Our Wills.

Thou Art Sad; Get Thee A Wife, Get Thee A Wife!

In Sweet Music Is Such Art: Killing Care And Grief Of Heart Fall Asleep, Or Hearing, Die.

And Worse I May Be Yet: The Worst Is Not So Long As We Can Say 'this Is The Worst.