Well, God's Above All; And There Be

The Heavens Forbid But That Our Loves And Comforts Should Increase Even As Our Days Do Grow!

Thou And I Are Too Wise To Woo Peaceably.

In Truth, Fair Montague, I Am Too Fond.

But Whate'er You Are That In This Desert Inaccessible, Under The Shade Of Melancholy Boughs, Lose And Neglect The Creeping Hours Of Time; If You Have Ever Looked On Better Days, If Ever Been Where Bells Knoll'd To Church, If Ever Sat At Any Good Man's Feast, If Ever From Your Eyelids Wiped A Tear, And Know What 'tis To Pity And Be Pitied, Let Gentleness My Strong Enforcement Be. . . .

Oft Have I Heard That Grief Softens The Mind And Makes It Fearful And Degenerate.