Now, Infidel, I Have You On The

Now See That Noble And Most Sovereign Reason, Like Sweet Bells Jangled, Out Of Tune And Harsh.

At Once, Good Night- Stand Not Upon The Order Of Your Going, But Go At Once.

It Is A Heretic That Makes The Fire, Not She Which Burns In It.

I Told You, Sir, They Were Red-hot With Drinking; So Full Of Valor That They Smote The Air, For Breathing In Their Faces, Beat The Ground For Kissing Of Their Feet.

Oh, Flatter Me; For Love Delights In Praises.