Do You Not Know I Am A

Better Three Hours Too Soon, Than One Hour To Late.

When Heaven Doth Weep, Doth Not The Earth O'erflow? If The Winds Rage, Doth Not The Sea Wax Mad, Threatening The Welkin With His Big-swollen Face?

Let Him Smell His Way To Dover!

For Grief Is Crowned With Consolation.

Sin From Thy Lips? O Trespass Sweetly Urged! Give Me My Sin Again.