And She's Fair I Love.

Sir, The Year Growing Ancient, Not Yet On Summer's Death Nor On The Birth Of Trembling Winter, The Fairest Flowers O' Th' Season Are Our Carnations And Streaked Gillyvors, Which Some Call Nature's Bastards.

Pardon, Gentles All, The Flat Unraised Spirits That Have Dared On This Unworthy Scaffold To Bring Forth So Great An Object.

Let No Such Man Be Trusted.

There Is A Kind Of Character In Thy Life, That To The Observer Doth Thy History, Fully Unfold.

I See, Sir, You Are Liberal In Offers. You Taught Me First To Beg, And Now Methinks You Teach Me How A Beggar Should Be Answered.