As Chaste As Is The Bud Ere

Who Has A Book Of All That Monarchs Do, He's More Secure To Keep It Shut Than Shown; For Vice Repeated Is Like The Wand'ring Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eye, To Spread Itself; And Yet The End Of All Is Bought Thus Dear, The Breath Is Gone, And The Sore Eyes See Clear To Stop The Air Would Hurt Them.

A Thousand Kisses Buys My Heart From Me; And Pay Them At Thy Leisure, One By One.

Were Kisses All The Joys In Bed, One Woman Would Another Wed.

Wine Loved I Deeply, Dice Dearly.

It Hurts Not The Tongue To Give Fair Words.