I Would Give All Of My Fame

Let There Be Gall Enough In Thy Ink, Though Thou Write With A Goose-pen, No Matter.

Would I Were Dead, If God's Good Will Were So, For What Is In This World But Grief And Woe?

The Heart Hath Treble Wrong When It Is Barr'd The Aidance Of The Tongue.

Now Old Desire Doth In His Deathbed Lie, And Young Affection Gapes To Be His Heir; That Fair For Which Love Groan'd For And Would Die, With Tender Juliet Match'd, Is Now Not Fair.

The Hand That Hath Made You Fair Hath Made You Good.