Come, Lady, Die To Live.

Adieu, Adieu, Adieu! Remember Me.

Love Moderately; Long Love Doth So; Too Swift Arrives As Tardy As Too Slow.

Thine Eyes I Love, And They As Pitying Me, Knowing Thy Heart Torment Me With Disdain, Have Put On Black, And Loving Mourners Be, Looking With Pretty Ruth Upon My Pain.

Winter, Which, Being Full Of Care, Makes Summer's Welcome Thrice More Wish'd, More Rare.

The Heart Hath Treble Wrong When It Is Barr'd The Aidance Of The Tongue.