The Best Is Yet To Come.

How Much More Doth Beauty Beauteous Seem By That Sweet Ornament Which Truth Doth Give!

Dissembling Harlot, Thou Art False In All!

Take Her Away; For She Hath Lived Too Long, To Fill The World With Vicious Qualities.

But Earthlier Happy Is The Rose Distill'd Than That Which Withering On The Virgin Thorn Grows, Lives, And Dies In Single Blessedness.

This Sleep Is Sound Indeed; This Is A Sleep That From This Golden Rigol Hath Divorc'd So Many English Kings.