Is Not The Truth The Truth?

Would I Were In An Alehouse In London.

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

What Are You Doing Sister? / Killing Swine.

You're In Love? Out Out Of Love? I Love Someone. She Doesn't Love Me.

For As A Surfeit Of The Sweetest Things The Deepest Loathing To The Stomach Brings, Or As Tie Heresies That Men Do Leave Are Hated Most Of Those They Did Deceive, So Thou, My Surfeit And My Heresy, Of All Be Hated, But The Most Of Me!