On Pain Of Death, No Person Be

How Low Am I, Thou Painted Maypole?

Then Come Kiss Me, Sweet And Twenty.

When My Love Swears That She Is Made Of Truth, I Do Believe Her, Though I Know She Lies.

My Crown Is Called Content, A Crown That Seldom Kings Enjoy.

I Desire You In Friendship, And I Will One Way Or Other Make You Amends.