Is There No Respect Of Place, Persons,

O, A Kiss Long As My Exile, Sweet As My Revenge! Now, By The Jealous Queen Of Heaven, That Kiss I Carried From Thee, Dear, And My True Lip Hath Virgined It E'er Since.

The Iron Tongue Of Midnight Hath Told Twelve Lovers, To Bed; 'tis Almost Fairy Time. I Fear We Shall Outstep The Coming Morn As Much As We This Night Over-watch'd.

True Apothecary Thy Drugs Art Quick

This Day's Black Fate On More Days Doth Depend; This But Begins The Woe, Others Must End.

It Is A Good Divine That Follows His Own Instructions.