Oh What Fools We Mortals Are.

Bid Me Discourse, I Will Enchant Thine Ear

Die For Adultery! No: The Wren Goes To't, And The Small Gilded Fly Does Lecher In My Sight

So Full Of Shapes Is Fancy That It Alone Is High Fantastical.

Make Me A Willow Cabin At Your Gate, And Call Upon My Soul Within The House; Write Loyal Cantons Of Contemned Love And Sing Them Loud Even In The Dead Of Night.

Man And Wife, Being Two, Are One In Love.