Great Sorrows Cannot Speak.

Nothing But Man Of All Envenomed Things, Doth Work Upon Itself, With Inborn Stings.

Up Then, Fair Phoenix Bride, Frustrate The Sun; Thyself From Thine Affection Takest Warmth Enough, And From Thine Eye All Lesser Birds Will Take Their Jollity. Up, Up, Fair Bride, And Call Thy Stars From Out Their Several Boxes, Take Thy Rubies, Pearls, And Diamonds Forth, And Make Thyself A Constellation Of Them All; And By Their Blazing Signify That A Great Princess Falls, But Doth Not Die. Be Thou A New Star, That To Us Portends Ends Of Much Wonder; And Be Thou Those Ends.

Be More Than Man, Or Thou'rt Less Than An Ant.

I Shall Die Reading; Since My Book And A Grave Are So Near.

Yesternight The Sun Went Hence, And Yet Is Here Today.