Cupid Is A Knavish Lad, Thus To

I Am A Foe To Tyrants, And My Country's Friend.

Give Me Mine Angle, We'll To Th' River: There, My Music Playing Far Off, I Will Betray Tawny-finned Fishes. My Bended Hook Shall Pierce Their Slimy Jaws; And As I Draw Them Up, I'll Think Them Every One An Antony, And Say, 'ah, Ha! Are Caught!'

What Is Light, If Sylvia Be Not Seen? What Is Joy If Sylvia Be Not By?

Graze On My Lips; And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

I Have Heard Of Some Kind Of Men That Put Quarrels Purposely On Others, To Taste Their Valor.