Something Is Rotten In The State Of

Do Not Swear By The Moon, For She Changes Constantly. Then Your Love Would Also Change.

My Way Of Life Is Fall'n Into The Sear And Yellow Leaf.

Thine Eyes I Love, And They As Pitying Me, Knowing Thy Heart Torment Me With Disdain, Have Put On Black, And Loving Mourners Be, Looking With Pretty Ruth Upon My Pain.

She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs: If Her Breath Were As Terrible As Her Terminations, There Were No Living Near Her; She Would Infect To The North Star. I Would Not Marry Her, Though She Were Endowed With All That Adam Bad Left Him Before He Transgressed.

O! For A Muse Of Fire, That Would Ascend The Brightest Heaven Of Invention.