Give Me To Drink Mandragora.

I Cannot Do It Without Comp[u]ters.

Hope Is A Lover's Staff; Walk Hence With That And Manage It Against Despairing Thoughts.

I'll Follow Thee And Make A Heaven Of Hell, To Die Upon The Hand I Love So Well

You'd Be So Lean, That Blast Of January Would Blow You Through And Through. Now, My Fair'st Friend, I Would I Had Some Flowers O' The Spring That Might Become Your Time Of Day.

As Chaste As Unsunned Snow.