There Is Nothing Serious In

So Sweet Was Ne'er So Fatal. I Must Weep. But They Are Creul Tears. This Sorrow's Heavenly; It Strikes Where It Doth Love.

Sir Andrew Ague-cheek: I'll Stay A Month Longer. I Am A Fellow O' The Strangest Mind I' The World; I Delight In Masques And Revels Sometimes Altogether (he's An Oddity In That He Enjoys Having Fun)

O Good Old Man, How Well In Thee Appears The Constant Service Of The Antique World, When Service Sweat For Duty, Not For Meed! Thou Art Not For The Fashion Of These Times, Where None Will Sweat But For Promotion, And Having That Do Choke Their Service Up Even With The Having. . . .

Two Loves I Have, Of Comfort And Despair, Which Like Two Spirits Do Suggest Me Still: The Better Angel Is A Man Right Fair, The Worser Spirit A Woman Coloured Ill.

You Have Dancing Shoes With Nimble Soles. I Have A Soul Of Lead.