Well, Honor Is The Subject Of My

Yon Grey Lines That Fret The Clouds Are Messengers Of Day.

Death Where Is Thy Sting? Love, Where Is Thy Glory?

If Yon Bethink Yourself Of Any Crime Unreconcil'd As Yet To Heaven And Grace, Solicit For It Straight.

It Is My Lady! *sighs* O, It Is My Love! O, That She Knew She Were! She Speaks, Yet She Sais Nothing. What Of That? Her Eye Discourses; I Will Answer It. I Am Too Bold, 'tis Not To Me She Speaks; Two Of The Fairest Stars In All The Heaven, Having Some Business, Do Entreat Her Eyes To Twinkle In Their Spheres Till They Return.

I Love You More Than Word Can Wield The Matter, Dearer Than Eye-sight, Space And Liberty