Love Goes Toward Love.

She Dreams Of Him That Has Forgot Her Love; You Dote On Her That Cares Not For Your Love. 'tis Pity Love Should Be So Contrary; And Thinking Of It Makes Me Cry 'alas!

The Pleasing Punishment That Women Bear.

Proper Deformity Shows Not In The Fiend So Horrid As In Woman.

Our Fancies Are More Giddy And Unfirm, More Longing, Wavering, Sooner Lost And Won, Than Women's Are.

As There Comes Light From Heaven And Words From Breath, As There Is Sense In Truth And Truth In Virtue