Comfort's In Heaven, And We Are On

The Quality Of Nothing Hath Not Such Need To Hide Itself

Men's Faults Do Seldom To Themselves Appear.

You Are A Lover. Borrow Cupid's Wings And Soar With Them Above A Common Bound.

Under The Colour Of Commending Him I Have Access My Own Love To Prefer; But Silvia Is Too Fair, Too True, Too Holy, To Be Corrupted With My Worthless Gifts.

For A Noble Heart, The Most Precious Gift Becomes Poor, When The Giver Stops Loving.