All Love's Pleasure Shall Not Match Its

A King Of Infinite Space

What If This Cursed Hand Were Thicker Than Itself With Brother's Blood Is There Not Rain Enough In The Sweet Heaves To Wash It White As Snow?

As You From Crimes Would Pardon'd Be, Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free.

I And My Bosom Must Debate Awhile, And Then I Would No Other Company.

Indeed, Sir, He That Sleeps Feels Not The Toothache; But A Man That Were To Sleep Your Sleep, And A Hangman To Help Him To Bed, I Think He Would Change Places With His Officer; For Look You, Sir, You Know Not Which Way You Shall Go.