Thou Art The Mars Of Malcontents.

I Have Bought Golden Opinions From All Sorts Of People.

Our Thoughts Are Ours, Their Ends None Of Our Own

His Steeds To Water At Those Springs On Chaliced Flowers That Lies; And Winking Mary-buds Begin To Ope Their Golden Eyes: With Every Thing That Pretty Is, My Lady Sweet, Arise.

Alas, That Love, Whose View Is Muffled Still, Should Without Eyes See Pathways To His Will!

They That Stand High Have Many Blasts To Shake Them.