We Do Not Keep The Outward Form

The Venom Clamours Of A Jealous Woman Poison More Deadly Than A Mad Dog's Tooth.

Foul Fiend Of France And Hag Of All Despite, Encompassed With Thy Lustful Paramours, Becomes It Thee To Taunt His Valiant Age And Twit With Cowardice A Man Half Dead?

Dost Thou Love Hawking? Thou Hast Hawks Will Soar Above The Morning Lark.

Tired With All These For Restful Death I Cry, As To Behold Desert A Beggar Born, And Needy Nothing Trimmed In Jollity, And Purest Faith Unhappily Forsworn.

Men Are April When They Woo, December When They Wed. Maids Are May When They Are Maids, But The Sky Changes When They Are Wives.