Despair And Die. The Ghosts

To Offend And Judge Are Distinct Offices, And Of Opposed Natures.

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself

I Do Know When The Blood Burns, How Prodigal The Soul Lends The Tongue Vows.

What's More To Do, Which Would Be Planted Newly With The Time, As Calling Home Our Exiled Friends Abroad That Fled The Snares Of Watchful Tyranny, Producing Forth The Cruel Ministers Of This Dead Butcher And His Fiend-like Queen, Who, As 'tis Thought, By Self And Violent Hands Took Off Her Life; This, And What Needful Else That Calls Upon Us, By The Grace Of Grace We Will Perform In Measure, Time, And Place.

And Yet,to Say The Truth, Reason And Love Keep Little Company Together Nowadays.