Still Constant Is A Wondrous Excellence.

The Bitter Clamor Of Two Eager Tongues.

What? Do I Love Her, That I Desire To Hear Her Speak Again, And Feast Upon Her Eyes

If There Were A Sympathy In Choice, War, Death, Or Sickness, Did Lay Siege To It, Making It Momentary As A Sound, Swift As A Shadow, Short As Any Dream, Brief As The Lightning In The Collied Night That, In A Spleen, Unfolds Both Heaven And Earth, And Ere A Man Hath Power To Say 'behold!' The Jaws Of Darkness Do Devour It Up; So Quick Bright Things Come To Confusion.

Such Thanks As Fits A King's Remembrance.

Let Me Be That I Am And Seek Not To Alter Me.