Pause Awhile, And Let My Counsel Sway

Fight To The Last Gasp.

Hear My Soul Speak. Of The Very Instant That I Saw You, Did My Heart Fly At Your Service

Merrily, Merrily Shall I Live Now, Under The Blossom That Hangs On The Bough.

To Loathe The Taste Of Sweetness, Whereof Little More Than A Little Is By Much Too Much.

Then Must You Speak Of One That Loved Not Wisely But Too Well, Of One Not Easily Jealous But, Being Wrought, Perplexed In The Extreme; Of One Whose Hand, Like The Base Indian, Threw A Pearl Away Richer Than All His Tribe; Of One Whose Subdued Eyes, Albeit Unused To The Melting Mood, Drop Tears As Fast As The Arabian Trees Their Medicinable Gum. Set You Down This, And Say Besides That In Aleppo Once, Where A Malignant And A Turbaned Turk Beat A Venetian And Traduced The State, I Took By Th' Throat The Circumcised Dog And Smote Him Thus.