It Is An Active Flame That Fliesfirst

Roses At First Were White, Till Thy Co'd Not Agree, Whether My Sapho's Breast, Or They More White Sho'd Be.

I Dare Not Ask A Kiss; I Dare Not Beg A Smile; Lest Having That Or This, I Might Grow Proud The While. No, No, The Utmost Share Of My Desire Shall Be Only To Kiss That Air, That Lately Kissed Thee.

Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

Let My Muse Fail Of Thy Former Helps, And Only Use Her Inadulterate Strength. What's Done By Me Hereafter Shall Smell Of The Lamp, Not Thee.

No, Not Jove Himselfe, At One Time, Can Be Wise And Love.