My Cousin's A Fool, And Thou Art

I Do Not Hate A Proud Man, As I Do Hate The Engendering Of Toads.

Thou Hast The Most Unsavoury Similes.

What Power Is It Which Mounts My Love So High, That Makes Me See, And Cannot Feed Mine Eye

His Steeds To Water At Those Springs On Chaliced Flowers That Lies; And Winking Mary-buds Begin To Ope Their Golden Eyes: With Every Thing That Pretty Is, My Lady Sweet, Arise.

Things Won Are Done, Joy's Soul Lies In The Doing.