It Is Lost At Dice, What Ancient

Nice Customs Curtsy To Great Kings.

What, All So Soon Asleep! I Wish Mine Eyes Would, With Themselves, Shut Up My Thoughts.

O Helena, Goddess, Nymph, Perfect, Divine! To What, My Love, Shall I Compare Thine Eyne? Crystal Is Muddy. O, How Ripe In Show Thy Lips, Those Kissing Cherries, Tempting Grow!

Drink Down All Unkindness.

Were Beauty Under Twenty Locks Kept Fast, Yet Love Breaks Through And Picks Them All At Last.