O, Full Of Scorpions Is My Mind!

O Death, Made Proud With Pure And Princely Beauty!

But Say, My Lord, It Were Not Regist'red, Methinks The Truth Should Live From Age To Age, As 'twere Retailed To All Posterity, Even To The General All-ending Day.

They Were Devils Incarnate.

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.

Thou Weedy Elf-skinned Canker-blossom!