Then Come Kiss Me, Sweet And Twenty.

Neither My Place, Nor Aught I Heard Of Business, Hath Raised Me From My Bed; Nor Doth The General Care Take Hold On Me; For My Particular Grief Is Of So Floodgate And O'erbearing Nature That It Engluts And Swallows Other Sorrows, And It Is Still Itself.

It Is Not, Nor It Cannot, Come To Good, But Break, My Heart, For I Must Hold My Tongue.

See The Minutes, How They Run, How Many Make The Hour Full Complete; How Many Hours Bring About The Day; How Many Days Will Finish Up The Year; How Many Years A Mortal Man May Live.

Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I A Vine.

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat; Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This.