Love Does Not See With The Eyes,

Beauty's A Doubtful Good, A Glass, A Flower, Lost, Faded, Broken, Dead Within An Hour; And Beauty, Blemish'd Once, For Ever's Lost, In Spite Of Physic, Painting, Pain, And Cost.

For I Can Raise No Money By Vile Means. By Heaven, I Had Rather Coin My Heart, And Drop My Blood For Drachmas

What Is Aught But As 'tis Valued?

Say, What Abridgement Have You For This Evening? What Masque, What Music? How Shall We Beguile The Lazy Time If Not With Some Delight?

Ruin Has Taught Me To Ruminate, That Time Will Come And Take My Love Away. This Thought Is As A Death, Which Cannot Choose But Weep To Have That Which It Fears To Lose.