Love Hath Made Thee A

Were I The Moor I Would Not Be Iago. In Following Him I Follow But Myself; Heaven Is My Judge, Not I For Love And Duty, But Seeming So For My Peculiar End. For When My Outward Action Doth Demonstrate The Native Act And Figure Of My Heart In Compliment Extern, ’tis Not Long After But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At. I Am Not What I Am

Let Me Say Amen Betimes Lest The Devil Cross My Prayer, For Here He Comes In The Likeness Of A Jew.

I Can See He's Not In Your Good Books,' Said The Messenger. 'no, And If He Were I Would Burn My Library.

Then Was I As A Tree Whose Boughs Did Bend With Fruit; But In One Night, A Storm Or Robbery, Call It What You Will, Shook Down My Mellow Hangings, Nay, My Leaves, And Left Me Bare To Weather.

Love Like A Shadow Flies When Substance Love Pursues Pursuing That That Flies, And Flying What Pursues.