Care Keeps His Watch In

Keep Up Your Bright Swords, For The Dew Will Rust Them.

The Caterpillars Of The Commonwealth, Which I Have Sworn To Weed And Pluck Away.

The Iron Tongue Of Midnight Hath Told Twelve Lovers, To Bed; 'tis Almost Fairy Time. I Fear We Shall Outstep The Coming Morn As Much As We This Night Over-watch'd.

My Falcon Now Is Sharp And Passing Empty, And Till She Stoop She Must Not Be Full-gorged, For Then She Never Looks Upon Her Lure.

Too Much Of Water Hast Thou, Poor Ophelia, And Therefore I Forbid My Tears.