By Heaven, I Love Thee Better Than

He's A Soldier; And For One To Say A Soldier Lies, Is Stabbing.

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief? O Sweet My Mother, Cast Me Not Away! Delay This Marriage For A Month, A Week, Or If You Do Not, Make The Bridal Bed In That Dim Monument Where Tybalt Lies.

Small To Greater Matters Must Give Way.

Speak, What Trade Art Thou? Why, Sir, A Carpenter. Where Is Thy Leather Apron And Thy Rule? What Does Thou With Thy Best Apparel On?

Love, Which Teacheth Me That Thou And I Am One