The Presence Of A King Engenders Love

Kiss Me, Kate, We Shall Be Married O'sunday

The Tartness Of His Face Sours Ripe Grapes.

Her Passions Are Made Of Nothing But The Finest Part Of Pure Love

Though Death Be Poor, It Ends A Mortal Woe.

The Weight Of This Sad Time We Must Obey, Speak What We Feel, Not What We Ought To Say. The Oldest Hath Borne Most: We That Are Young Shall Never See So Much, Nor Live So Long.