Since You Would Save None Of Me,

Nothing But Man Of All Envenomed Things, Doth Work Upon Itself, With Inborn Stings.

Let Me Arrest Thy Thoughts, Wonder With Me, Why Ploughing, Building, Ruling And The Rest, Or Most Of Those Arts, Whence Our Lives Are Blessed, By Cursed Cain's Race Invented Be, And Blessed Seth Vexed Us With Astronomy.

Old Grandsires Talk Of Yesterday With Sorrow, And For Our Children We Reserve Tomorrow.

Dull Sublunary Lovers' Love (whose Soul Is Sense) Cannot Admit Absence, Because It Doth Remove Those Things Which Elemented It.

When One Man Dies, One Chapter Is Not Torn Out Of The Book, But Translated Into A Better Language.