. . . Change Is The Nursery

I Am Two Fools, I Know, For Loving, And For Saying So.

Can There Be Worse Sickness, Than To Know That We Are Never Well, Nor Can Be So?

So, So, Break Off This Last Lamenting Kiss, Which Sucks Two Souls, And Vapors Both Away.

Filled With Her Love, May I Be Rather Grown Mad With Much Heart, Than Idiot With None.

Busy Old Fool, Unruly Sun, Why Dost Thou Thus Through Windows And Through Curtains Call On Us? Must To Thy Motions Lovers Seasons Run?