He Is As Full Of Valor As

Yet Mark'd I Where The Bolt Of Cupid Fell: It Fell Upon A Little Western Flower, Before Milk-white, Now Purple With Love's Wound, And Maidens Call It Love-in-idleness.

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.

Dreams Are The Children Of Idled Minds.

If Thou Remeber'st Not The Slightest Folly That Ever Love Did Make Thee Run Into, Thou Hast Not Lov'd

Journeys End In Lovers Meeting.