What Time Hath Scanted Men In Hair,

Unhappy That I Am, I Cannot Heave My Heart Into My Mouth.

Free From Gross Passion Or Of Mirth Or Anger

England Is Safe, If True Within Itself.

Thy Friendship Makes Us Fresh.

Therefore The Moon, The Governess Of Floods, Pale In Her Anger Washes All The Air, That Rheumatic Diseases Do Abound; And Through This Distemperature We See The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.