Forget, Forgive; Conclude, And Be

The Gloomy Shade Of Death.

Oh, She Doth Teach The Torches To Burn Bright! It Seems She Hangs Upon The Cheek Of Night Like A Rich Jewel In An Ethiope’s Ear, Beauty Too Rich For Use, For Earth Too Dear. So Shows A Snowy Dove Trooping With Crows As Yonder Lady O'er Her Fellows Shows. The Measure Done, I’ll Watch Her Place Of Stand, And, Touching Hers, Make Blessèd My Rude Hand. Did My Heart Love Till Now? Forswear It, Sight! For I Ne'er Saw True Beauty Till This Night.

You're In Love? Out Out Of Love? I Love Someone. She Doesn't Love Me.

If By Chance I Talk A Little Wild, Forgive Me; I Had It From My Father.

Though Justice Be Thy Plea Consider This, That In The Course Of Justice None Of Us Should See Salvation.