Hang Those That Talk Of Fear.

For Murder, Though It Have No Tongue, Will Speak With Most Miraculous Organ.

We Cannot Fight For Love, As Men May Do; We Shou'd Be Woo'd, And Were Not Made To Woo

As Love Is Full Of Unbefitting Strains, All Wanton As A Child, Skipping And Vain, Form'd By The Eye And Therefore, Like The Eye, Full Of Strange Shapes, Of Habits And Of Forms, Varying In Subjects As The Eye Doth Roll To Every Varied Object In His Glance

Can I Go Forward When My Heart Is Here? Turn Back, Dull Earth, And Find Thy Centre Out.

"fair, Kind, And True" Is All My Argument, "fair, Kind, And True" Varying To Other Words; And In This Change Is My Invention Spent, Three Themes In One, Which Wondrous Scope Affords.