He Is The Most Wretched Of Men

Although The Last, Not Least.

Mine Eyes Were Not In Fault, For She Was Beautiful; Mine Ears, That Heard Her Flattery; Nor My Heart, That Thought Her Like Her Seeming. It Had Been Vicious To Have Mistrusted Her.

The Moon's An Arrant Thief, And Her Pale Fire She Snatches From The Sun.

Headstrong Liberty Is Lashed With Woe.

Love, Therefore, And Tongue-tied Simplicity In Least Speak Most, To My Capacity.