Sweet Beatrice, Wouldst Thou Come When I

A Time, Methinks, Too Short To Make A World-without-end Bargain In.

O, That This Too Too Solid Flesh Would Melt Thaw And Resolve Itself Into A Dew! Or That The Everlasting Had Not Fix'd His Canon 'gainst Self-slaughter! O God! God! How Weary, Stale, Flat And Unprofitable, (135) Seem To Me All The Uses Of This World! Fie On't! Ah Fie! 'tis An Unweeded Garden, That Grows To Seed; Things Rank And Gross In Nature Possess It Merely. That It Should Come To This! But Two Months Dead: Nay, Not So Much, Not Two: (140) So Excellent A King; That Was, To This.

I Have Lov'd Her Ever Since I Saw Her; And Still I See Her Beautiful

If Your Mind Dislike Anything Obey It

Give Every Man Thine Ear, But Few Thy Voice; Take Each Man's Censure, But Reserve Thy Judgment.