Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As

His Steeds To Water At Those Springs On Chaliced Flowers That Lies; And Winking Mary-buds Begin To Ope Their Golden Eyes: With Every Thing That Pretty Is, My Lady Sweet, Arise.

Much Rain Wears The Marble.

Be Checked For Silence, But Never Taxed For Speech.

Awake, Dear Heart, Awake. Thou Hast Slept Well. Awake.

To Be In Love, Where Scorn Is Bought With Groans; Coy Looks, With Heart-sore Sighs; One Fading Moment's Mirth