Come The Three Corners Of The World

Memory, The Warder Of The Brain.

This Feather Stirs; She Lives! If It Be So, It Is A Chance Which Does Redeem All Sorrows That Ever I Have Felt.

Men At Some Time Are Masters Of Their Fates.

Cupid Is A Knavish Lad, Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.

It Is Not Night When I Do See Your Face, Therefore I Think I Am Not In The Night; Nor Doth This Wood Lack Worlds Of Company, For You In My Respect Are All The World: Then How Can It Be Said I Am Alone, When All The World Is Here To Look On Me?