True Apothecary Thy Drugs Art Quick

I Love Thee, I Love Thee With A Love That Shall Not Die. Till The Sun Grows Cold And The Stars Grow Old.

What, Shall One Of Us, That Struck For The Foremost Man Of All This World But For Supporting Robbers--shall We Now Contaminate Our Fingers With Base Bribes, And Sell The Mighty Space Of Our Large Honors For So Much Trash As May Be Grasped Thus?

Finish, Good Lady; The Bright Day Is Done, And We Are For The Dark.

Even As One Heat Another Heat Expels, Or As One Nail By Strength Drives Out Another, So The Remembrance Of My Former Love Is By A Newer Object Quite Forgotten.

The Web Of Our Life Is Of A Mingled Yarn, Good And Ill Together: Our Virtues Would Be Proud If Our Faults Whipped Them Not; And Our Crimes Would Despair If They Were Not Cherished By Our Own Virtues.