Beauty Itself Doth Of Itself Persuade The

Live How We Can, Yet Die We Must.

The Plants Look Up To Heaven, From Whence They Have Their Nourishment.

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.

Enjoy'd No Sooner But Despised Straight, Past Reason Hunted, And No Sooner Had Past Reason Hated

I Am Such A Tender Ass, If My Hair Do But Tickle Me, I Must Scratch.