The Wound Of Peace Is

But She Makes Hungry Where She Most Satisfies.

Gold--what Can It Not Do, And Undo?

But Men Are Men; The Best Sometimes Forget.

If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On, Give Me Excess Of It; That Surfeiting, The Appetite May Sicken, And So Die.

One Whom The Music Of His Own Vain Tongue Doth Ravish Like Enchanting Harmony.