Come, And Take Choice Of All My

I Do Not Seek To Quench Your Love's Hot Fire, But Qualify The Fire's Extreme Rage, Lest It Should Burn Above The Bounds Of Reason.

The Miserable Have No Other Medicine But Only Hope.

But She Makes Hungry Where She Most Satisfies.

The Lady Doth Protest Too Much, Methinks.

O That My Tongue Were In The Thunder's Mouth! Then With Passion Would I Shake The World, And Rouse From Sleep That Fell Anatomy Which Cannot Hear A Lady's Feeble Voice, Which Scorns A Modern Invocation.