Ere I Could Make Thee Open Thy

Love's Gentle Spring Doth Always Fresh Remain.

Love Adds A Precious Seeing To The Eye.

Get Thee Glass Eyes, And Like A Scurvy Politician, Seem To See The Things Thou Dost Not.

Be As Just And Gracious Unto Me, As I Am Confident And Kind To Thee.

But There Is No Such Man; For, Brother, Men Can Counsel And Speak Comfort To That Grief Which They Themselves Not Feel; But, Tasting It, Their Counsel Turns To Passion, Which Before Would Give Preceptial Medicine To Rage, Fetter Strong Madness In A Silken Thread, Charm Ache With Air And Agony With Words.