Let The Sap Of Reason Quench The

'tis Thought The King Is Dead; We Will Not Stay. The Bay Trees In Our Country Are All Wither'd.

Good Morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All In The Morn Betime, And I A Maid At Your Window, To Be Your Valentine.

I Am Indeed Not Her Fool, But Her Corrupter Of Words. (act Iii, Sc. I, 37-38)

Up And Down, Up And Down I Will Lead Them Up And Down I Am Feared In Field In Town Goblin, Lead Them Up And Down

To Be In Love- Where Scorn Is Bought With Groans, Coy Looks With Heart-sore Sighs, One Fading Moment's Mirth With Twenty Watchful, Weary, Tedious Nights; If Haply Won, Perhaps A Hapless Gain; If Lost, Why Then A Grievous Labour Won; However, But A Folly Bought With Wit, Or Else A Wit By Folly Vanquished.