Tis Now The Very Witching Time Of

That Which In Mean Men We Entitle Patience Is Pale Cold Cowardice In Noble Breasts.

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.

Beshrew That Heart That Makes My Heart To Groan For That Deep Wound It Gives My Friend And Me; Is't Not Enough To Torture Me Alone, But Slave To Slavery My Sweet'st Friend Must Be?

Murder Most Foul, As In The Best It It; But This Most Foul, Strange, And Unnatural.

If Ever Thou Be'st Bound In Thy Scarf And Beaten, Thou Shalt Find What It Is To Be Proud Of Thy Bondage.