The Fewer Men, The Greater Share Of

Be Collected. No More Amazement. Tell Your Piteous Heart There's No Harm Done.

Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date.

Out Of Her Favour, Where I Am In Love.

Therefore The Moon, The Governess Of Floods, Pale In Her Anger Washes All The Air, That Rheumatic Diseases Do Abound; And Through This Distemperature We See The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.

Thou Art As Tyrannous, So As Thou Art, As Those Whose Beauties Proudly Make Them Cruel; For Well Thou Know'st To My Dear Doting Heart Thou Art The Fairest And Most Precious Jewel.