Give Me To Drink Mandragora.

What Thing, In Honor, Had My Father Lost, That Need To Be Revived And Breathed In Me?

Tis Beauty Truly Blent, Whose Red And White Nature's Own Sweet And Cunning Hand Laid On.

Thus Hath The Candle Sing'd The Moth. O These Deliberate Fools!

They Met So Near With Their Lips That Their Breaths Embraced Together.

Affection Is A Coal That Must Be Cooled; Else, Suffered, It Will Set The Heart On Fire.