She's Good, Being Gone.

With Love's Light Wings Did I O'er-perch These Walls, For Stony Limits Cannot Hold Love Out

The Ides Of March Are Come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; But Not Gone.

My Prophecy Is But Half His Journey Yet, For Yonder Walls, That Pertly Front Your Town, Yon Towers, Whose Wanton Tops Do Buss The Clouds, Must Kiss Their Own Feet.

Fair Youth, I Would I Could Make Thee Believe I Love.

To England Will I Steal, And There I'll Steal.