Kiss Till The Cow Comes Home.

Who Doubting Tyranny, And Fainting Under Fortune's False Lottery, Desperately Run To Death, For Dread Of Death; That Soul's Most Stout, That, Bearing All Mischance, Dares Last It Out.

Let No Man Fear To Die, We Love To Sleep All, And Death Is But The Sounder Sleep.

It Is A Word That's Quickly Spoken, Which Being Unrestrained, A Heart Is Broken

Nothing's So Dainty Sweet As Lovely Melancholy.

Oh, Love Will Make A Dog Howl In Rhyme.