And When I Am Forgotten, As I

Ay Me! For Aught That Ever I Could Read, Could Ever Hear By Tale Or History, The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth.

Ere Yet The Salt Of Most Unrighteous Tears Had Left The Flushing Of Her Gallèd Eyes, She Married. O, Most Wicked Speed, To Post With Such Dexterity To Incestuous Sheets!

O Wretched State! O Bosom Black As Death!

When Griping Grief The Heart Doth Wound, And Doleful Dumps The Mind Opresses, Then Music, With Her Silver Sound, With Speedy Help Doth Lend Redress.

Fools Are Not Mad Folks.