To Say The Truth, So

Courage And Comfort, All Shall Yet Go Well

I Am Ill At These Numbers.

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.

I Cannot Be A Man With Wishing, Therefore I Will Die A Woman With Grieving.

Too Much Of Water Hast Thou, Poor Ophelia, And Therefore I Forbid My Tears.