Commit The Oldest Sins The Newest Kind

Can One Desire Too Much Of A Good Thing?

Foolery, Sir, Does Walk About The Orb Like The Sun; It Shines Everywhere.

A Tardiness In Nature, Which Often Leaves The History Unspoke, That It Intends To Do.

To Sue To Live, I Find I Seek To Die; And, Seeking Death, Find Life: Let It Come On.

Love, Whose Month Is Ever May, Spied A Blossom Passing Fair, Playing In The Wanton Air: Through The Velvet Leaves The Wind, All Unseen Can Passage Find; That The Lover, Sick To Death, Wish'd Himself The Heaven's Breath.