Why, There's A Wench! Come On, And

Love Looks Not With The Eyes, But With The Mind, And Therefore Is Winged Cupid Painted Blind.

Your Praises Will Become Your Wages.

Thus Hath The Candle Sing'd The Moth. O These Deliberate Fools!

Against Love's Fire Fear`s Frost Hath Dissolution

The Setting Sun, And The Music At The Close, As The Last Taste Of Sweets, Is Sweetest Last, Writ In Rememberance More Than Long Things Past.