Despair And Die. The Ghosts

Before, I Loved Thee As A Brother, John, But Now, I Do Respect Thee As My Soul.

Our Fancies Are More Giddy And Unfirm, More Longing, Wavering, Sooner Lost And Won, Than Women's Are.

For A Noble Heart, The Most Precious Gift Becomes Poor, When The Giver Stops Loving.

Which Means She To Deceive, Father Or Mother?

Love Is Merely A Madness, And, I Tell You, Deserves As Well A Dark House And A Whip As Madmen Do.