Lechery, Lechery; Still, Wars And Lechery: Nothing

I'll Make Death Love Me; For I Will Contend Even With His Pestilent Scythe.

A Great Cause Of The Night Is Lack Of The Sun.

Be Like You Thought Our Love Would Last Too Long, If It Were Chain'd Together

If It Be Aught Toward The General Good, Set Honor In One Eye And Death I' Th' Other, And I Will Look On Both Indifferently; For Let The Gods So Speed Me As I Love The Name Of Honor More Than I Fear Death.

Give Me That Man That Is Not Passion's Slave, And I Will Wear Him In My Heart's Core, In My Heart Of Heart, As I Do Thee.