Foul Words Is But Foul Wind, And

Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come

Thou Mak'st Me Merry: I Am Full Of Pleasure; Let Us Be Jocund

This Rough Magic I Here Abjure And When I Have Required Some Heavenly Music, Which Even Now I Do, To Work Mine End Upon Their Senses That This Airy Charm Is For, I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain Fathoms In The Earth, And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, I'll Drown My Book.

My Love Admits No Qualifying Dross

I Have Bought Golden Opinions From All Sorts Of People.