When We Are Born We Cry That

To Beguile The Time, Look Like The Time.

If I Were A Woman I Would Kiss As Many Of You As Had Beards That Pleased Me, Complexions That Liked Me And Breaths That I Defied Not

What Made Me Love Thee? Let That Persuade Thee, There's Something Extraordinary In Thee

Slander, Whose Whisper Over The World's Diameter, As Level As The Cannon To Its Blank, Transports Its Poisoned Shot.

Love's Not Time's Fool, Though Rosy Lips And Cheeks Within His Bending Sickle's Compass Come; Love Alters Not With His Brief Hours And Weeks, But Bears It Out Even To The Edge Of Doom. If This Be Error And Upon Me Prov'd, I Never Writ, Nor No Man Ever Lov'd.