They Lie Deadly That Tell You Have

You Cannot Call It Love, For At Your Age The Heyday In The Blood Is Tame

The Plants Look Up To Heaven, From Whence They Have Their Nourishment.

How Wayward Is This Foolish Love That, Like A Testy Babe, Will Scratch The Nurse And Presently, All Humble, Kiss The Rod.

I Wonder Men Dare Trust Themselves With Men.

There's Such Divinity Doth Hedge A King That Treason Can But Peep To What It Would.