Every Offense Is Not A Hate At

Things May Serve Long, But Not Serve Ever.

Time Goes On Crutches Till Love Have All His Rites.

Thrice Is He Arm'd That Hath His Quarrel Just, And He But Naked, Though Lock'd Up In Steel, Whose Conscience With Injustice Is Corrupted.

Then Come Kiss Me, Sweet And Twenty.

But I Remember Now I Am In This Earthly World, Where To Do Harm Is Often Laudable, To Do Good Sometime Accounted Dangerous Folly.