Swear Me, Kate, Like A Lady As

They Do Not Love That Do Not Show Their Love. The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth. Love Is A Familiar. Love Is A Devil. There Is No Evil Angel But Love.

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

I Am Not Bound To Please Thee With My Answer.

Her Blood Is Settled, And Her Joints Are Stiff; Life And These Lips Have Long Been Separated: Death Lies On Her Like An Untimely Frost Upon The Sweetest Flower Of All The Field.

Tis The Times' Plague, When Madmen Lead The Blind.