Then Come Kiss Me, Sweet And Twenty.

Where The Greater Malady Is Fixed, The Lesser Is Scarce Felt.

As Love Is Full Of Unbefitting Strains, All Wanton As A Child, Skipping And Vain, Form'd By The Eye And Therefore, Like The Eye, Full Of Strange Shapes, Of Habits And Of Forms, Varying In Subjects As The Eye Doth Roll To Every Varied Object In His Glance

Can It Be Chat Modesty May More Betray Our Sense Than Woman's Lightness?

It Hurts Not The Tongue To Give Fair Words.

For In That Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come.