Weed Your Better Judgments Of All Opinion

I Dote On His Very Absence.

If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On, Give Me Excess Of It; That Surfeiting, The Appetite May Sicken, And So Die.

I Hold It Cowardice To Rest Mistrustful Where A Noble Heart Hath Pawned An Open Hand In Sign Of Love.

I'll Follow Thee And Make A Heaven Of Hell, To Die Upon The Hand I Love So Well

A Great Perturbation In Nature, To Receive At Once The Benefit Of Sleep And Do The Effects Of Watching!