Youth To Itself Rebels, Though None Else

It Is The Mind That Makes The Body Rich; And As The Sun Breaks Through The Darkest Clouds, So Honor Peereth In The Meanest Habit.

He Uses His Folly Like A Stalking-horse, And Under The Presentation Of That He Shoots His Wit.

From Women's Eyes This Doctrine I Derive: They Sparkle Still The Right Promethean Fire; They Are The Books, The Arts, The Academes, That Show, Contain And Nourish All The World.

You'd Be So Lean, That Blast Of January Would Blow You Through And Through. Now, My Fair'st Friend, I Would I Had Some Flowers O' The Spring That Might Become Your Time Of Day.

Will Fortune Never Come With Both Hands Full, But Write Her Fair Words Still In Foulest Terms?