England Is Safe, If True Within Itself.

Make The Upcoming Hour Overflow With Joy, And Let Pleasure Drown The Brim.

Demetrius Relent, Sweet Hermia: And, Lysander, Yield Thy Crazed Title To My Certain Right. Lysander You Have Her Father's Love, Demetrius; Let Me Have Hermia's: Do You Marry Him.

That Strain Again! It Had A Dying Fall: O, It Came O'er My Ear Like The Sweet Sound That Breathes Upon A Bank Of Violets, Stealing And Giving Odour! Enough; No More: 'tis Not So Sweet As It Was Before.

We Fail! But Screw Your Courage To The Sticking-place, And We'll Not Fail.

My Love To Thee Is Sound, Sans Crack Or Flaw.