We Will Meet; And There We May

In The Night, Imagining Some Fear, How Easy Is A Bush Supposed A Bear!

Don Pedro Come, Lady, Come; You Have Lost The Heart Of Signior Benedick. Beatrice Indeed, My Lord, He Lent It Me Awhile; And I Gave Him Use For It, A Double Heart For His Single One: Marry, Once Before He Won It Of Me With False Dice, Therefore Your Grace May Well Say I Have Lost It. Don Pedro You Have Put Him Down, Lady, You Have Put Him Down. Beatrice So I Would Not He Should Do Me, My Lord, Lest I Should Prove The Mother Of Fools.

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.

My Charity Is Outrage, Life My Shame; And In That Shame Still Live My Sorrow's Rage!

Cursed Be He That Moves My Bones.