Fire That's Closest Kept Burns Most Of

An Arrant Traitor As Any Is In The Universal World, Or In France, Or In England.

Then Come Kiss Me, Sweet And Twenty.

If They Love They Know Not Why, They Hate Upon No Better Ground, They Hate Upon No Better A Ground

True, I Talk Of Dreams, Which Are The Children Of An Idle Brain, Begot Of Nothing But Vain Fantasy.

These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends.