Blessings Of Your Heart, You Brew Good

I Dote On His Very Absence.

O, Let Him Pass. He Hates Him That Would Upon The Rack Of This Tough World Stretch Him Out Longer.

Faint Heart Never Won Fair Maid.

All The Contagion Of The South Light On You, You Shames Of Rome! You Herd Of--boils And Plagues Plaster You O'er; That You May Be Abhorr'd Further Than Seen, And One Infect Another Against The Wind A Mile!

Discharge My Followers; Let Them Hence Away, From Richard's Night To Bolingbrooke's Fair Day.