Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor

Their Understanding Begins To Swell And The Approaching Tide Will Shortly Fill The Reasonable Shores That Now Lie Foul And Muddy.

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself

Love Is Begun By Time And Time Qualifies The Spark And Fire Of It.

O Me, You Juggler, You Canker-blossom, You Thief Of Love!

Mine Eyes Smell Onions: I Shall Weep Anon.