Is It Not Strange, That Sheep's Guts

Love, Therefore, And Tongue-tied Simplicity In Least Speak Most, To My Capacity.

That If You Be Honest And Fair, Your Honesty Should Admit No Discourse To Your Beauty.

This Royal Throne Of Kings, This Scepter'd Isle, This Earth Of Majesty, This Seat Of Mars, This Other Eden, Demi-paradise.

How Now, Wit! Whither Wander You?

Music Can Minister To Minds Diseased, Pluck From The Memory A Rooted Sorrow, Raze Out The Written Troubles Of The Brain, And With Its Sweet Oblivious Antidote, Cleanse The Full Bosom Of All Perilous Stuff That Weighs Upon The Heart.