Love Is . . . A Madness

And She's Fair I Love.

Sir, In My Heart There Was A Kind Of Fighting That Would Not Let Me Sleep.

I Dare Do All That May Become A Man; Who Dares Do More, Is None

How Poor Are They That Have Have Not Patients.

If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On, Give Me Excess Of It; That Surfeiting, The Appetite May Sicken, And So Die.