What's Done Can't Be Undone.

But We Have Reason To Cool Our Raging Motions, Our Carnal Stings, Our Unbitted Lusts; Whereof I Take This That You Call Love To Bea Sect Or Scion.... It Is Merely A Lust Of The Blood And A Permission Of The Will.

In Springtime, The Only Pretty Ring Time Birds Sing, Hey Ding A-ding, A-ding Sweet Lovers Love The Spring—

Tear-falling Pity Dwells Not In This Eye.

Oh, She Doth Teach The Torches To Burn Bright!

A Man Should Be What He Seems.