Good God, The Souls Of

Here Is A Rural Fellow That Will Not Be Denied Your Highness' Presence: He Brings You Figs.

My Affection Hath An Unknown Bottom, Like The Bay Of Portugal.

Love Sought Is Good, But Given Unsought, Is Better.

In Struggling With Misfortunes Lies The True Proof Of Virtue.

These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends And In Their Triumph Die, Like Fire And Powder, Which As They Kiss Consume. The Sweetest Honey Is Loathsome In His Own Deliciousness And In The Taste Confounds The Appetite. Therefore Love Moderately; Long Love Doth So; Too Swift Arrives As Tardy As Too Slow.