So Full Of Artless Jealousy Is Guilt,

The Truest Poetry Is The Most Feigning.

Thus With A Kiss I Die

There Is No Vice So Simple But Assumes Some Mark Of Virtue On His Outward Parts.

Thanks To Men Of Noble Minds, Is Honorable Meed.

Now Stand You On The Top Of Happy Hours, And Many Maiden Gardens Yet Unset, With Virtuous Wish Would Bear You Living Flowers, Much Liker Than Your Painted Counterfeit: So Should The Lines Of Life That Life Repair Which This, Time's Pencil, Or My Pupil Pen Neither In Inward Worth Nor Outward Fair Can Make You Live Your Self In Eyes Of Men.