Farewell! God Knows When We Shall Meet

My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun

Coal-black Is Better Than Another Hue In That It Scorns To Bear Another Hue; For All The Water In The Ocean Can Never Turn The Swan's Black Legs To White, Although She Lave Them Hourly In The Flood.

The Bashful Virgin's Sidelong Looks Of Love, The Matron's Glance That Would Those Looks Reprove.

To Stand Against The Deep Dread-bolted Thunder, In The Most Terrible And Nimble Stroke Of Quick, Cross Lightning.

We All Are Men, In Our Own Natures Frail, And Capable Of Our Flesh; Few Are Angels.