Foul Fiend Of France And Hag Of

I Can Hardly Forbear Hurling Things At Him.

I Had As Lief Have Been Myself Alone.

So Distribution Should Undo Excess, And Each Man Have Enough.

A Little More Than Kin, And Less Than Kind.

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, For As You Were When First Your Eye I Eyed, Such Seems Your Beauty Still. Three Winters Cold Have From The Forests Shook Three Summers' Pride, Three Beauteous Springs To Yellow Autumn Turn'd In Process Of The Seasons Have I Seen, Three April Perfumes In Three Hot Junes Burn'd, Since First I Saw You Fresh, Which Yet Are Green.