God Send Everyone Their Heart's Desire!

Those, That With Haste Will Make A Mighty Fire, Begin It With Weak Straws.

Fondling,' She Saith, 'since I Have Hemm'd Thee Here Within The Circuit Of This Ivory Pale, I'll Be A Park, And Thou Shalt Be My Deer; Feed Where Thou Wilt, On Mountain Or In Dale: Graze On My Lips, And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

Where I Could Not Be Honest, I Never Yet Was Valiant.

Thou Hast Her, France; Let Her Be Thine, For We Have No Such Daughter, Nor Shall Ever See That Face Of Hers Again. Therefore Be Gone Without Our Grace, Our Love, Our Benison.

Thy Words, I Grant Are Bigger, For I Wear Not, My Dagger In My Mouth.