And Makes Me Poor Indeed.

Love Reasons Without Reason.

Thou Ominous And Fearful Owl Of Death.

God's Will! My Liege, Would You And I Alone, Without More Help, Could Fight This Royal Battle!

But We Have Reason To Cool Our Raging Motions, Our Carnal Stings, Our Unbitted Lusts; Whereof I Take This That You Call Love To Bea Sect Or Scion.... It Is Merely A Lust Of The Blood And A Permission Of The Will.

Graze On My Lips; And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.