Who Is It That Can Tell Me

She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs: If Her Breath Were As Terrible As Her Terminations, There Were No Living Near Her; She Would Infect To The North Star. I Would Not Marry Her, Though She Were Endowed With All That Adam Bad Left Him Before He Transgressed.

Let Us Not Burden Our Remembrances With A Heaviness That's Gone.

As Merry As The Day Is Long.

Hot And Hasty, Like A Scotch Jig.

But I Am Constant As The Northern Star, Of Whose True Fixed And Resting Quality There Is No Fellow In The Firmament.