And, If You Love Me,

O, My Offence Is Rank, It Smells To Heaven

The Strawberry Grows Underneath The Nettle And Wholesome Berries Thrive And Ripen Best Neighbour'd By Fruit Of Baser Quality.

But No Perfection Is So Absolute, That Some Impurity Doth Not Pollute.

Which Can Say More Than This Rich Praise, That You Alone Are You?

No, No, I Am But Shadow Of Myself: You Are Deceived, My Substance Is Not Here.