What E'er Thou Art, Act Well Thy

All Impediments In Fancy's Course Are Motives Of More Fancy.

With Mirth In Funeral And With Dirge In Marriage.

Words Are Easy, Like The Wind; Faithful Friends Are Hard To Find.

My Heart Is Turned To Stone; I Strike It, And It Hurts My Hand.

Did My Heart Love Till Now? Forswear It, Sight! For I Ne'er Saw True Beauty Till This Night.