When A Wise Man Gives Thee Better

Forbear To Judge, For We Are Sinners All.

Why, All Delights Are Vain, But That Most Vain Which, With Pain Purchased, Doth Inherit Pain: As, Painfully To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek The Light Of Truth, Which Truth The While Doth Falsely Blind The Eyesight Of His Look.

Stars Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light See My Black And Deep Desires: The Eyes Wink At The Hand; Yet Let That Be Which The Eye Fears, When It Is Done, To See

Farewell, Fair Cruelty.

I Pray You, Do Not Fall In Love With Me, For I Am Falser Than Vows Made In Wine.