For She Had Eyes And Chose Me.

My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun

Why Didst Thou Promise Such A Beauteous Day And Make Me Travel Forth Without My Cloak, To Let Base Clouds O'ertake Me In My Way, Hiding They Brav'ry In Their Rotten Smoke?

Not Proud You Have, But Thankful That You Have. Proud Can I Never Be Of What I Hate, But Thankful Even For Hate That Is Meant Love.

Now 'tis Spring, And Weeds Are Shallow-rooted; Suffer Them Now And They'll O'ergrow The Garden.

I Am Falser Than Vows Made In Wine.