There's Not A Note Of Mine That's

Nature Does Require Her Time Of Preservation, Which Perforce, I Her Frail Son Amongst My Brethren Mortal, Must Give My Attendance To.

Then With The Losers Let It Sympathize, For Nothing Can Seem Foul To Those That Win.

Though This Be Madness, Yet There Is Method In't.

Never Durst Poet Touch A Pen To Write Until His Ink Were Temper'd With Love's Sighs.

Let There Be Gall Enough In Thy Ink, Though Thou Write With A Goose-pen, No Matter.