For Love, Thou Know'st, Is Full Of

Time Goes On Crutches Till Love Have All His Rites.

Crowns Have Their Compass-length Of Days Their Date- Triumphs Their Tomb-felicity, Her Fate- Of Nought But Earth Can Earth Make Us Partaker, But Knowledge Makes A King Most Like His Maker.

The Wind-shak'd Surge, With High And Monstrous Main, Seems To Cast Water On The Burning Bear, And Quench The Guards Of The Ever-fixed Pole.

For I Am Proverbed With A Grandsire Phrase.

Thou Shalt Not Stir One Foot To Seek A Foe.