So Foul And Fair A Day I

My Heart Is Turned To Stone; I Strike It, And It Hurts My Hand.

Conceit In Weakest Bodies Works The Strongest.

I Have Unclasp'd To Thee The Book Even Of My Secret Soul.

Modest Doubt Is Called The Beacon Of The Wise.

I Rather Would Entreat Thy Company; To See The Wonders Of The World Abroad, Than, Living Dully Sluggardized At Home, Wear Out Thy Youth With Shapeless Idleness.