I Have Heard Of Some Kind Of

Oh, Flatter Me; For Love Delights In Praises.

Do You See Yonder Cloud That’s Almost In Shape Of A Camel? Polonius: By The Mass, And ‘tis Like A Camel, Indeed. Hamlet: Methinks It Is Like A Weasel. Polonius: It Is Backed Like A Weasel. Hamlet: Or Like A Whale? Polonius: Very Like A Whale.

Under The Colour Of Commending Him I Have Access My Own Love To Prefer; But Silvia Is Too Fair, Too True, Too Holy, To Be Corrupted With My Worthless Gifts.

Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown, And What Strength I Have's Mine Own, Which Is Most Faint: Now, 'tis True, Or Sent To Naples. Let Me Not, Since I Have My Dukedom Got And Pardon 'd The Deceiver, Dwell In This Bare Island By Your Spell; I Must Be Here Confined By You, But Release Me From My Bands With The Help Of Your Good Hands: Gentle Breath Of Yours My Sails Must Fill, Or Else My Project Fails, Which Was To Please: Now I Want Spirits To Enforce, Art To Enchant, And My Ending Is Despair, Unless I Be Relieved By Prayer, Which Pierces So, That It Assaults Mercy Itself, And Frees All Faults. As You From Crimes Would Pardon'd Be, Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free.

The Sweetest Honey Is Loathsome In His Own Deliciousness, And In The Taste Confounds The Appetite: Therefore Love Moderately— Long Love Doth So.