The Sight Of Lovers Feedeth

A Woman's Thought Runs Before Her Actions.

Misery Makes Sport To Mock Itself.

He Wears The Rose Of Youth Upon Him.

What's To Come Is Still Unsure: In Delay There Lies No Plenty; Then Come Kiss Me, Sweet And Twenty, Youth's A Stuff Will Not Endure.

This Most Excellent Canopy, The Air, Look You, This Brave O-erhanging Firmament, This Majestical Roof Fretted With Golden Fire.