If Thou Engrossest All The

I Do Desire We May Be Better Strangers.

Our Purses Shall Be Proud, Our Garments Poor; For 'tis The Mind That Makes The Body Rich

Oh Why Rebuke You Him That Loves You So? / Lay Breath So Bitter On Your Bitter Foe.

I Hate Ingratitude More In A Man Than Lying, Vainness, Babbling, Drunkenness, Or Any Taint Of Vice Whose Strong Corruption Inhabits Our Frail Blood".

Faith, Stay Here This Night; They Will Surely Do Us No Harm; You Saw They Speak Us Fair, Give Us Gold; Methinks They Are Such A Gentle Nation That, But For The Mountain Of Mad Flesh That Claims Marriage Of Me, Could Find In My Heart To Stay Here Still And Turn Witch.