O All You Host Of Heaven! O

A Turn Or Two I'll Walk To Still My Beating Mind.

Beauty Within Itself Should Not Be Wasted.

Ay; Beauty's Princely Majesty Is Such, Confounds The Tongue And Makes The Senses Rough.

But When I Came, Alas, To Wive, With Hey, Ho, The Wind And The Rain, By Swaggering Could I Never Thrive, For The Rain It Raineth Every Day.

How Many Fond Fools Serve Mad Jealousy!