Give Me To Drink Mandragora.

War Is No Strife To The Dark House And The Detested Wife.

He Must Needs Go That The Devil Drives.

Madam, You Have Bereft Me Of All Words, Only My Blood Speaks To You In My Veins.

I Am Not Prone To Weeping As Our Sex Commonly Are; The Want Of Which Vain Dew Perchance Shall Dry Your Pities; But I Have That Honorable Grief Lodged Here Which Burns Worse Than Tears Drown.

They Lie Deadly That Tell You Have Good Faces.