Bait The Hook Well. This Fish Will

Have You Not Love Enough To Bear With Me, When That Rash Humor Which My Mother Gave Me Makes Me Forgetful.

Think'st Thou I'd Make A Life Of Jealousy, To Follow Still The Changes Of The Moon With Fresh Suspicions? No; To Be Once In Doubt Is Once To Be Resolved.

Praising What Is Lost Makes The Remembrance Dear

Value Dwells Not In Particular Will; It Holds His Estimate And Dignity As Well Wherein 'tis Precious Of Itself As In The Prizer.

Ay Me! For Aught That I Could Ever Read, Could Ever Hear By Tale Or History, The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth. But, Either It Was Different In Blood,- Or Else It Stood Upon The Choice Of Friends,- Or, If There Were A Sympathy In Choice, War, Death, Or Sickness Did Lay Siege To It.