The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow

For Grief Is Crowned With Consolation.

To Fear The Worst Oft Cures The Worst.

Time Goes On Crutches Till Love Have All His Rites.

All Is Well Ended If This Suit Be Won. That You Express Content; Which We Will Pay, With Strife To Please You, Day Exceeding Day.

If Thou Couldst, Doctor, Cast The Water Of My Land, Find Her Disease, And Purge It To A Sound And Pristine Health, I Would Applaud Thee To The Very Echo, That Should Applaud You Again.