There Was A Star Danced,

Each Present Joy Or Sorrow Seems The Chief.

For Brutus, As You Know, Was Caesar's Angel: Judge, O You Gods, How Dearly Caesar Loved Him! This Was The Most Unkindest Cut Of All

Love's Not Time's Fool, Though Rosy Lips And Cheeks Within His Bending Sickle's Compass Come; Love Alters Not With His Brief Hours And Weeks, But Bears It Out Even To The Edge Of Doom. If This Be Error And Upon Me Prov'd, I Never Writ, Nor No Man Ever Lov'd.

Who Is Silvia What Is She, That All Our Swains Commend Her Holy, Fair, And Wise Is She.

So Shalt Thou Feed On Death, That Feeds On Men.