A Breath Thou Art, Servile To All

Now, Infidel, I Have You On The Hip!

To Have Seen Much And To Have Nothing Is To Have Rich Eyes And Poor Hands.

Take No Repulse, Whatever She Doth Say; For 'get You Gone,' She Doth Not Mean 'away.' Flatter And Praise, Commend, Extol Their Graces; Though Ne'er So Black, Say They Have Angels' Faces

Many Can Brook The Weather That Love Not The Wind.

Come, And Take Choice Of All My Library, And So Beguile Thy Sorrow.