Who Are The Violets Now That Strew

Fie, Fie, How Frantically I Square My Talk!

Tis A Blushing Shame-faced Spirit That Mutinies In A Man's Bosom. It Fills A Man Full Of Obstacles. It Made Me Once Restore A Purse Of Gold That (by Chance) I Found. It Beggars Any Man That Keeps It.

You Are Yoked With A Lamb, That Carries Anger As The Flint Bears Fire; Who, Much Enforced, Shows A Hasty Spank, And Straight Is Cold Again.

By That Sin Fell The Angels.

Farewell! Thou Art Too Dear For My Possessing.