My Affection Hath An Unknown Bottom, Like

Suspicion Always Haunts The Guilty Mind.

Thus Sometimes Hath The Brightest Day A Cloud; And After Summer Evermore Succeeds Barren Winter, With His Wrathful Nipping Cold: So Cares And Joys Abound, As Seasons Fleet.

We See Which Way The Stream Of Time Doth Run.

Now The Melancholy God Protect Thee, And The Tailor Make Thy Garments Of Changeable Taffeta, For Thy Mind Is Opal.

There's Nothing In This World Can Make Me Joy.