O, I Do Not Like That Paying

Knowing I Lov'd My Books, He Furnish'd Me From Mine Own Library With Volumes That I Prize Above My Dukedom.

Good Morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All In The Morn Betime, And I A Maid At Your Window, To Be Your Valentine.

A Wicked Conscience Mouldeth Goblins Swift As Frenzy Thoughts.

The Loyalty, Well Held To Fools, Does Make Our Faith Mere Folly.

To You Your Father Should Be As A God.