Come, Lady, Die To Live.

Now Old Desire Doth In His Deathbed Lie, And Young Affection Gapes To Be His Heir; That Fair For Which Love Groan'd For And Would Die, With Tender Juliet Match'd, Is Now Not Fair.

The Fringed Curtains Of Thine Eye Advance, And Say What Thou Seest Yond.

Frame Your Mind To Mirth And Merriment Which Bars A Thousand Harms And Lengthens Life.

Lawn As White As Driven Snow; Cyprus Black As E'er Was Crow; Gloves As Sweet As Damask Roses.

An Overflow Of Good Converts To Bad.