Thy Wit Is A Very Bitter Sweeting;

I Will Be Correspondent To Command, And Do My Spiriting Gently.

No Visor Does Become Black Villainy So Well As Soft And Tender Flattery.

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire; Doubt That The Sun Doth Move; Doubt Truth To Be A Liar; But Never Doubt I Love.

Men's Eyes Were Made To Look, And Let Them Gaze. I Will Not Budge For No Man's Pleasure.

Till All Grace Be In One Woman, One Woman Shall Not Come In My Grace.