Ingrateful Man With Liquorish Draughts, And Morsels

Come, Woo Me, Woo Me, For Now I Am In A Holiday Humor, And Like Enough To Consent.

No .... Holy Father, Throw Away That Thought. Believe Not That The Dribbling Dart Of Love Can Pierce A Complete Bosom.

Cry Havoc And Let Slip The Dogs Of War!

Love's Not Time's Fool, Though Rosy Lips And Cheeks Within His Bending Sickle's Compass Come; Love Alters Not With His Brief Hours And Weeks, But Bears It Out Even To The Edge Of Doom. If This Be Error And Upon Me Prov'd, I Never Writ, Nor No Man Ever Lov'd.

That If You Be Honest And Fair, Your Honesty Should Admit No Discourse To Your Beauty.