Cold Indeed, And Labor Lost:

Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram; The Marigold, That Goes To Bed Wi' The Sun, And With Him Rise Weeping.

Grim-visaged War Hath Smoothed His Wrinkled Front; And Now, Instead Of Mounting Barbed Steeds To Fright The Souls Of Fearful Adversaries, He Capers Nimbly In A Lady's Chamber To The Lascivious Pleasing Of A Lute.

Pardon's The Word To All.

Mean And Mighty, Rotting Together, Have One Dust.

He Is Deformed, Crooked, Old And Sere, Ill-faced, Worse Bodied, Shapeless Everywhere; Vicious, Ungentle, Foolish, Blunt, Unkind; Stigmatical In Making, Worse In Mind.