Is Twenty Hundred Kisses Such

Making Night Hideous.

The Cheek Is Apter Than The Tongue To Tell An Errand.

My Cake Is Dough, But I'll In Among The Rest, Out Of Hope Of All But My Share Of The Feast.

I Would Not Lose So Great An Honor As One Man More Methinks Would Share With Me For The Best Hope I Have.

O Prosperina, For The Flowers Now That, Frighted, Thou Let'st Fall From Dis's Wagon; Daffodils, That Come Before The Swallow Dares, And Take The Winds Of March With Beauty; Violets Dim, But Sweeter Than The Lids Of Juno's Eyes Or Cytherea's Breath; Pale Primroses, That Die Unmarried, Ere They Can Behold Bright Phoebus In His Strength--a Malady Most Incident To Maids; Bold Oxlips And The Crown Imperial; Lilies Of All Kinds, The Flower-de-luce Being One.