And How His Audit Stands Who Knows,

You Have Dancing Shoes With Nimble Soles. I Have A Soul Of Lead.

Speak, What Trade Art Thou? Why, Sir, A Carpenter. Where Is Thy Leather Apron And Thy Rule? What Does Thou With Thy Best Apparel On?

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, For As You Were When First Your Eye I Eyed, Such Seems Your Beauty Still. Three Winters Cold Have From The Forests Shook Three Summers' Pride, Three Beauteous Springs To Yellow Autumn Turn'd In Process Of The Seasons Have I Seen, Three April Perfumes In Three Hot Junes Burn'd, Since First I Saw You Fresh, Which Yet Are Green.

Well, I'll Repent, And That Suddenly, While I Am In Some Liking; I Shall Be Out Of Heart Shortly, And Then I Shall Have No Strength To Repent.

Though Men Can Cover Crimes With Bold, Stern Looks, Poor Women's Faces Are Their Own Faults' Books.