Love Will Not Be Spurred To What

Woe To That Land That's Governed By A Child.

All's Well That Ends Well; Still The Fine's The Crown. Whate'er The Course, The End Is The Renown.

The Curse Of Marriage That We Can Call These Delicate Creatures Ours And Not Their Appetites!

And Teach Me How To Name The Bigger Light, And How The Less, That Burn By Day And Night.

Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown, And What Strength I Have's Mine Own, Which Is Most Faint: Now, 'tis True, Or Sent To Naples. Let Me Not, Since I Have My Dukedom Got And Pardon 'd The Deceiver, Dwell In This Bare Island By Your Spell; I Must Be Here Confined By You, But Release Me From My Bands With The Help Of Your Good Hands: Gentle Breath Of Yours My Sails Must Fill, Or Else My Project Fails, Which Was To Please: Now I Want Spirits To Enforce, Art To Enchant, And My Ending Is Despair, Unless I Be Relieved By Prayer, Which Pierces So, That It Assaults Mercy Itself, And Frees All Faults. As You From Crimes Would Pardon'd Be, Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free.