Give Me To Drink Mandragora.

So Holy And So Perfect Is My Love, And I In Such A Poverty Of Grace, That I Shall Think It A Most Plenteous Crop To Glean The Broken Ears After The Man That The Main Harvest Reaps.

My Rage Is Gone, And I Am Struck With Sorrow. Take Him Up. Help, Three O' Th' Chiefest Soldiers; I'll Be One. Beat Thou The Drum, That It Speaks Mournfully, Trail Your Steel Spikes. Though In This City He Hath Widowed And Unchilded Many A One, Which To This Hour Bewail The Injury, Yet He Shall Have A Noble Memory. Assist.

For Honesty Coupled To Beauty, Is To Have Honey A Sauce To Sugar.

With Love's Light Wings Did I O'er-perch These Walls, For Stony Limits Cannot Hold Love Out

Things May Serve Long, But Not Serve Ever.