I Have Trod A Measure, I Have

If The Skin Were Parchment And The Blows You Gave Were Ink, Your Own Handwriting Would Tell You What I Think.

My Falcon Now Is Sharp And Passing Empty, And Till She Stoop She Must Not Be Full-gorged, For Then She Never Looks Upon Her Lure.

How Art Thou Out Of Breath When Thou Hast Breath To Say To Me That Thou Art Out Of Breath?

Thou Mak'st Me Merry: I Am Full Of Pleasure; Let Us Be Jocund

When I Said I Would Die A Bachelor, I Did Not Think I Should Live Till I Were Married.