Weep Not, Sweet Queen, For

Under The Greenwood Tree, Who Loves To Lie With Me And Tune His Merry Note, Unto The Sweet Bird's Throat; Come Hither, Come Hither, Come Hither. Here Shall He See No Enemy But Winter And Rough Weather.

Truth Needs No Color; Beauty, No Pencil.

This Sanguine Coward, This Bed-presser, This Horseback-breaker, This Huge Hill Of Flesh!

Absence Doth Sharpen Love, Presence Strengthens It; The One Brings Fuel, The Other Blows It Till It Burns Clear.

Ha. "against My Will I Am Sent To Bid You Come Into Dinner." There's A Double Meaning In That. -benedick (much Ado)