Fortune Is Merry, And In This Mood

Let Us Be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen Of The Shade, Minions Of The Moon

O, Train Me Not, Sweet Mermaid, With Thy Note, To Drown Me In Thy Sister’s Flood Of Tears.

Why, This Hath Not A Finger's Dignity.

They May Seize On The White Wonder Of Dear Juliet's Hand And Steal Immortal Blessing From Her Lips, Who, Even In Pure And Vestal Modesty, Still Blush, As Thinking Their Own Kisses Sin.

So Shalt Thou Feed On Death, That Feeds On Men.