Tis Ever Common That Men Are Merriest

Love Is A Smoke Raised With The Fume Of Sighs; Being Purged, A Fire Sparkling In Lovers' Eyes; Being Vexed, A Sea Nourished With Loving Tears. What Is It Else? A Madness Most Discreet, A Choking Gall, And A Preserving Sweet. *here’s What Love Is: A Smoke Made Out Of Lovers' Sighs. When The Smoke Clears, Love Is A Fire Burning In Your Lover’s Eyes. If You Frustrate Love, You Get An Ocean Made Out Of Lovers' Tears. What Else Is Love? It’s A Wise Form Of Madness. It’s A Sweet Lozenge That You Choke On.*

Graze On My Lips; And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

You Are Thought Here To The Most Senseless And Fit Man For The Job.

'by Heaven, That Thou Art Fair, Is Most Infallible True, That Thou Art Beauteous Truth Itself, That Thou Art Lovely. More Fairer Than Fair, Beautiful Than Beauteous, Truer Than Truth Itself, Have Commiseration On Thy Heroical Vassal.

This Is The Very Ecstasy Of Love, Whose Violent Property Ordoes Itself And Leads The Will To Desperate Undertakings.