All Offences Come From The

I Drink To The General Joy O’ The Whole Table." Macbeth

If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On, Give Me Excess Of It; That Surfeiting, The Appetite May Sicken, And So Die.

I Am Never Merry When I Hear Sweet Music.

Why Should You Think That I Should Woo In Scorn? Scorn And Derision Never Come In Tears: Look, When I Vow, I Weep; And Vows So Born, In Their Nativity All Truth Appears. How Can These Things In Me Seem Scorn To You, Bearing The Badge Of Faith, To Prove Them True?

So Now I Have Confessed That He Is Thine, And I My Self Am Mortgaged To Thy Will, My Self I'll Forfeit, So That Other Mine, Thou Wilt Restore To Be My Comfort Still.