Time Does Not Have The Same Appeal

I Do Not Hate A Proud Man, As I Do Hate The Engendering Of Toads.

O, What Men Dare Do! What Men May Do! What Men Daily Do, Not Knowing What They Do.

With Mirth And Laughter Let Old Wrinkles Come.

If Ever (as That Ever May Be Near) You Meet In Some Fresh Cheek The Power Of Fancy, Then Shall You Know The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen, Arrows Make.

I, Measuring His Affections By My Own, Which Then Most Sought Where Most Might Not Be Found, Being One Too Many By My Weary Self, Pursued My Humor Not Pursuing His, And Gladly Shunned Who Gladly Fled From Me.