Court A Mistress, She Denies You; Let

Weigh The Meaning And Look Not At The Words.

The Poet Is The Nearest Borderer Upon The Orator.

Sweet Meat Must Have Sour Sauce.

Tell Troth And Shame The Devil.

Still To Be Neat, Still To Be Drest, As You Were Going To A Feast, Still To Be Powder'd, All Perfum'd. Lady, It Is To Be Presumed, Though Art's Hid Causes Are Not Found, All Is Not Sweet, All Is Not Sound.