To Some Kind Of Men Their Graces

O Prosperina, For The Flowers Now That, Frighted, Thou Let'st Fall From Dis's Wagon; Daffodils, That Come Before The Swallow Dares, And Take The Winds Of March With Beauty; Violets Dim, But Sweeter Than The Lids Of Juno's Eyes Or Cytherea's Breath; Pale Primroses, That Die Unmarried, Ere They Can Behold Bright Phoebus In His Strength--a Malady Most Incident To Maids; Bold Oxlips And The Crown Imperial; Lilies Of All Kinds, The Flower-de-luce Being One.

There's Neither Honesty, Manhood, Nor Good Fellowship In Thee.

He Wears His Faith But As The Fashion Of His Hat.

Between The Acting Of A Dreadful Thing And The First Motion, All The Interim Is Like A Phantasma Or A Hideous Dream.

The Eagle Suffers Little Birds To Sing.