Pleasure Is None, If Not

Up Then, Fair Phoenix Bride, Frustrate The Sun; Thyself From Thine Affection Takest Warmth Enough, And From Thine Eye All Lesser Birds Will Take Their Jollity. Up, Up, Fair Bride, And Call Thy Stars From Out Their Several Boxes, Take Thy Rubies, Pearls, And Diamonds Forth, And Make Thyself A Constellation Of Them All; And By Their Blazing Signify That A Great Princess Falls, But Doth Not Die. Be Thou A New Star, That To Us Portends Ends Of Much Wonder; And Be Thou Those Ends.

I Long To Talk With Some Old Lover's Ghost, Who Died Before The God Of Love Was Born.

How Great Love Is, Presence Best Trial Makes, But Absence Tries How Long This Love Will Be.

I Am Two Fools, I Know, For Loving, And For Saying So.

No Man Is An Island, Entire Of Itself; Every Man Is A Piece Of The Continent.