Death Is A Fearful Thing.

Blest Are Those Whose Blood And Judgment Are So Well Commingled, That They Are Not A Pipe For Fortune's Finger To Sound What Stop She Please.

Now, God Be Praised, That To Believing Souls Gives Light In Darkness, Comfort In Despair.

O Love, Be Moderate, Allay Thy Ecstasy, In Measure Rain Thy Joy, Scant This Excess!

We Wound Our Modesty And Make Foul The Clearness Of Our Deservings, When Of Ourselves We Publish Them.

You're In Love? Out Out Of Love? I Love Someone. She Doesn't Love Me.