If I Be Waspish, Best Beware My

They May Seize On The White Wonder Of Dear Juliet's Hand And Steal Immortal Blessing From Her Lips, Who, Even In Pure And Vestal Modesty, Still Blush, As Thinking Their Own Kisses Sin.

Let Me Have War, Say I; It Exceeds Peace As Far As Day Does Night; It's Spritely, Waking, Audible, And Full Of Vent.

We Came Into The World Like Brother And Brother, And Now Let's Go Hand In Hand, Not One Before Another.

Weep Not, Sweet Queen, For Trickling Tears Are Vain.

In Sweet Music Is Such Art: Killing Care And Grief Of Heart Fall Asleep, Or Hearing, Die.