Thus With A Kiss I Die

O No, Thy Love Though Much, Is Not So Great, It Is My Love That Keeps Mine Eye Awake, Mine Own True Love That Doth My Rest Defeat, To Play The Watchman Ever For Thy Sake. For Thee Watch I, Whilst Thou Dost Wake Elsewhere, From Me Far Off, With Others All Too Near.

Unless The Old Adage Must Be Verified, That Beggars Mounted, Run Their Horse To Death.

What Is Your Substance, Whereof Are You Made, That Millions Of Strange Shadows On You Tend? Since Everyone Hath Every One, One Shade, And You, But One, Can Every Shadow Lend. Describe Adonis, And The Counterfeit Is Poorly Imitated After You. On Helen’s Cheek All Art Of Beauty Set, And You In Grecian Tires Are Painted New. Speak Of The Spring And Foison Of The Year; The One Doth Shadow Of Your Beauty Show, The Other As Your Bounty Doth Appear, And You In Every Blessèd Shape We Know. In All External Grace You Have Some Part, But You Like None, None You, For Constant Heart.

Let No Such Man Be Trusted.

I Will Go Wash; And When My Face Is Fair, You Shall Perceive Whether I Blush Or No.