But Here's The Joy: My Friend And

There Is Nothing Either Good Or Bad But Thinking Makes It So.

What Thing, In Honor, Had My Father Lost, That Need To Be Revived And Breathed In Me?

What To Ourselves In Passion We Propose, The Passion Ending, Doth The Purpose Lose.

But Earthlier Happy Is The Rose Distill'd Than That Which Withering On The Virgin Thorn Grows, Lives, And Dies In Single Blessedness.

I Am Ill At These Numbers.