Would The Cook Were O' My Mind!

Where The Bee Sucks, There Suck I In The Cow-slip's Bell I Lie There I Couch When Owls Do Cry

For My Grief's So Great That No Supporter But The Huge Firm Earth Can Hold It Up: Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It. (constance, From King John, Act Iii, Scene 1)

Diseased Nature Oftentimes Breaks Forth In Strange Eruptions.

And When Love Speaks, The Voice Of All The Gods Makes Heaven Drowsy With The Harmony.

Every Inordinate Cup Is Unbless'd, And The Ingredient Is A Devil.