Who Is Silvia What Is She, That

The Language I Have Learnt These Forty Years, My Native English, Now I Must Forgo; And Now My Tongue's Use Is To Me No More Than An Unstringed Viol Or A Harp, Or Like A Cunning Instrument Cased Up Or, Being Open, Put Into His Hands That Knows No Touch To Tune The Harmony.

Things Base And Vile, Holding No Quantity, Love Can Transpose To Form And Dignity

Your Cause Of Sorrow Must Not Be Measured By His Worth, For Then It Hath No End.

Each Substance Of A Grief Has Twenty Shadows.

We Will Meet; And There We May Rehearse Most Obscenely And Courageously.