Love Is A Wonderful, Terrible Thing

I Heard A Bustling Rumor Like A Fray, And The Wind Blows It From The Capitol.

Constant You Are, But Yet A Woman; And For Secrecy, No Lady Closer; For I Well Believe Thou Wilt Not Utter What Thou Dost Not Know.

Love Bears It Out Even To The Edge Of Doom.

Then Is It Sin To Rush Into The Secret House Of Death. Ere Death Dare Come To Us?

Who Has A Book Of All That Monarchs Do, He's More Secure To Keep It Shut Than Shown; For Vice Repeated Is Like The Wand'ring Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eye, To Spread Itself; And Yet The End Of All Is Bought Thus Dear, The Breath Is Gone, And The Sore Eyes See Clear To Stop The Air Would Hurt Them.