When I Have Plucked The Rose, I

Tam: What Begg’st Thou Then? Fond Woman, Let Me Go. Lav: ’tis Present Death I Beg; And One Thing More That Womanhood Denies My Tongue To Tell. O! Keep Me From Their Worse Than Killing Lust, And Tumble Me Into Some Loathsome Pit, Where Never Man’s Eye May Behold My Body: Do This, And Be A Charitable Murderer. Tam: So Should I Rob My Sweet Sons Of Their Fee: No, Let Them Satisfy Their Lust On Thee. Dem: Away! For Thou Hast Stay’d Us Here Too Long. Lav: No Grace! No Womanhood! Ah, Beastly Creature, The Blot And Enemy To Our General Name. Confusion Fall—

Night's Candles Have Burned Out, And Jocund Day Stands Tiptoe On The Misty Mountaintops." Hope Tinged With Melancholy - Like Life.

My Life, My Joy, My Food, My Ail The World!

Stars Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light See My Black And Deep Desires: The Eyes Wink At The Hand; Yet Let That Be Which The Eye Fears, When It Is Done, To See

I Dreamt My Lady Came And Found Me Dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And Breathed Such Life With Kisses In My Lips That I Revived And Was An Emperor.