The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow

Juliet Is The East And I Am The Sun.

She Will Die If You Love Her Not, And She Will Die Ere She Might Make Her Love Known

Better Conquest Never Canst Thou Make Than Arm Thy Constant And Thy Nobler Parts Against Giddy, Loose Suggestions.

Now The Melancholy God Protect Thee, And The Tailor Make Thy Garments Of Changeable Taffeta, For Thy Mind Is Opal.

...lest Too Light Winning Make The Prize Light.