Lady, With Me, With Me Thy Fortune

My Hounds Are Bred Out Of The Spartan Kind; So Flew'd, So Sanded; Their Heads Are Hung With Ears That Sweep Away The Morning Dew.

This Is The Very Ecstasy Of Love.

Maids Want Nothing But Husbands, And When They Have Them, They Want Everything.

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory.

And Where Two Raging Fires Meet Together, They Do Consume The Thing That Feeds Their Fury.