Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown.

Is Love A Tender Thing? It Is Too Rough, Too Rude, Too Boisterous, And It Pricks Like Thorn.

What Made Me Love Thee? Let That Persuade Thee, There's Something Extraordinary In Thee

Love Is Merely A Madness, And, I Tell You, Deserves As Well A Dark House And A Whip As Madmen Do.

Downy Sleep, Death's Counterfeit.

A Maiden Hath No Tongue--but Thought.