Kiss Me, Kate, We Shall Be Married

Divers Philosophers Hold That The Lips Is Parcel Of The Mouth.

She Is Your Treasure, She Must Have A Husband; I Must Dance Bare-foot On Her Wedding Day, And, For Your Love To Her, Lead Apes In Hell.

It Is The Mind That Makes The Body Rich; And As The Sun Breaks Through The Darkest Clouds, So Honor Peereth In The Meanest Habit.

Speak, My Fair, And Fairly, I Pray Thee.

Can It Be That Modesty May More Betray Our Sense Than Woman's Lightness? Having Waste Ground Enough, Shall We Desire To Raze The Sanctuary And Pitch Our Evils There?