Would I Were In An Alehouse In

But, Soft! What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks? It Is The East, And Juliet Is The Sun. Arise, Fair Sun, And Kill The Envious Moon, Who Is Already Sick And Pale With Grief, That Thou, Her Maid, Art Far More Fair Than She. Be Not Her Maid, Since She Is Envious; Her Vestal Livery Is But Sick And Green And None But Fools Do Wear It; Cast It Off. It Is My Lady, O, It Is My Love! Oh, That She Knew She Were!

Being Your Slave What Should I Do But Tend, Upon The Hours, And Times Of Your Desire? I Have No Precious Time At All To Spend; Nor Services To Do Till You Require.

O For A Horse With Wings!

Better A Witty Fool Than A Foolish Wit.

They Met So Near With Their Lips That Their Breaths Embraced Together.