Blind Is His Love, And Best Befits

There Is Flattery In Friendship.

Sin From Thy Lips? O Trespass Sweetly Urged! Give Me My Sin Again.

All Furnished, All In Arms; All Plum'd Like Estridges That With The Wind Bated Like Eagles Having Lately Bathed; Glittering In Golden Coats Like Images; As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May And Gorgeous As The Sun At Midsummer; Wanton As Youthful Goats, Wild As Young Bulls.

How Sometimes Nature Will Betray Its Folly, Its Tenderness, And Make Itself A Pastime To Harder Bosoms!

Have I Thought Long To See This Morning’s Face, And Doth It Give Me Such A Sight As This?