Done To Death By Slanderous Tongue

Sorrow Breaks Seasons And Reposing Hours, Makes The Night Morning, And The Noontide Night.

Why, What Should Be The Fear? I Do Not Set My Life At A Pin's Fee.

Well-apparel'd April On The Heel Of Limping Winter Treads.

Hang There Like Fruit, My Soul, Till The Tree Die!

A Pair Of Star-crossed Lovers.