How Poor Are They That Have Have

Cease Thy Counsel, For Thy Words Fall Into My Ears As Priceless As Water Into A Seive.

Lady, You Are The Cruel'st She Alive If You Will Lead These Graces To The Grave And Leave The World No Copy.

How Low Am I, Thou Painted Maypole?

Foul Whisperings Are Abroad

Sweet Beatrice, Wouldst Thou Come When I Called Thee? Beatrice Yea, Signior, And Depart When You Bid Me. Benedick O, Stay But Till Then! Beatrice 'then' Is Spoken; Fare You Well Now... (much Ado About Nothing)