So Wise So Young, They Say, Do

Love Is My Sin, And Thy Dear Virtue Hate, Hate Of My Sin, Grounded On Sinful Loving.

We Will All Laugh At Gilded Butterflies.

I Could Be Well Content To Entertain The Lag-end Of My Life With Quiet Hours.

But, Soft! What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks? It Is The East, And Juliet Is The Sun.

Steed Threatens Steed, In High And Boastful Neighs Piercing The Night's Dull Ear; And From The Tents The Armorers Accomplishing The Knights, With Busy Hammers Closing Rivets Up, Give Dreadful Note Of Preparation.