When Sorrows Come, They Come Not Single

Though Music Oft Hath Such A Charm To Make Bad Good, And Good Provoke To Harm.

Give Me Mine Angle, We'll To Th' River: There, My Music Playing Far Off, I Will Betray Tawny-finned Fishes. My Bended Hook Shall Pierce Their Slimy Jaws; And As I Draw Them Up, I'll Think Them Every One An Antony, And Say, 'ah, Ha! Are Caught!'

A Grandma's Name Is Little Less In Love Than Is The Doting Title Of A Mother.

Why, Then The World ’s Mine Oyster, Which I With Sword Will Open.

All The Perfumes Of Arabia Will Not Sweeten This Little Hand! Oh, Oh, Oh!