My Only Love Sprung From My Only

Tax Not So Bad A Voice To Slander Music Any More Than Once.

No Doubt They Rose Up Early To Observe The Rite Of May; And, Hearing Our Intent, Came Here In Grace Of Our Solemnity.

Give It An Understanding, But No Tongue.

Take No Repulse, Whatever She Doth Say; For 'get You Gone,' She Doth Not Mean 'away.' Flatter And Praise, Commend, Extol Their Graces; Though Ne'er So Black, Say They Have Angels' Faces

Sweet Flowers Are Slow And Weeds Make Haste.