Get Thee To A Nunnery.

My Love Is Deep; The More I Give To Thee, The More I Have, Both Are Infinite.

The Urging Of That Word, Judgment, Hath Bred A Kind Of Remorse In Me.

Devils Soonest Tempt, Resembling Spirits Of Light.

The Smallest Worm Will Turn Being Trodden On, And Doves Will Peck In Safeguard Of Their Brood.

The Even Mead, That Erst Brought Sweetly Forth The Freckled Cowslip, Burnet, And Green Clover, Wanting The Scythe, All Uncorrected, Rank, Conceives By Idleness, And Nothing Teems But Hateful Docks, Rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burrs, Losing Both Beauty And Utility.