But Love Is Blind And Lovers Cannot

To Stand Against The Deep Dread-bolted Thunder, In The Most Terrible And Nimble Stroke Of Quick, Cross Lightning.

Death Is My Son-in-law, Death Is My Heir.

Poor Desdemona! I Am Glad Thy Father's Dead. Thy Match Was Mortal To Him, And Pure Grief Shore His Old Thread In Twain.

In Love The Heavens Themselves Do Guide The State; Money Buys Lands, And Wives Are Sold By Fate.

Gold--what Can It Not Do, And Undo?