He Wears The Rose Of Youth Upon

What Should Such Fellows As I Do Crawling Between Earth And Heaven?

Rest You Fair, Good Signior; Your Worship Was The Last Man In Our Mouths.

Since My Dear Soul Was Mistress Of Her Choice And Could Of Men Distinguish Her Election, Sh'ath Sealed Thee For Herself.

For Where Is Any Author In The World Teaches Such Beauty As A Woman's Eye?

The Crown O' The Earth Doth Melt. My Lord! O, Wither'd Is The Garland Of The War, The Soldier's Pole Is Fall'n: Young Boys And Girls Are Level Now With Men; The Odds Is Gone, And There Is Nothing Left Remarkable Beneath The Visiting Moon.