Is It Possible He Should Know What

My Love's More Richer Than My Tongue.

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, For As You Were When First Your Eye I Ey'd, Such Seems Your Beauty Still.

To Think But Nobly Of My Grandmother: Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons.

Their Lips Were Four Red Roses On A Stalk.

On A Day - Alack The Day! - Love, Whose Month Is Ever May, Spied A Blossom Passing Fair Playing In The Wanton Air