Her Blood Is Settled, And Her Joints

Nice Customs Curtsy To Great Kings.

If By Chance I Talk A Little Wild, Forgive Me; I Had It From My Father.

Here Feel We But The Penalty Of Adam, The Seasons' Difference, As The Icy Fang And Churlish Chiding Of The Winter's Wind, Which, When It Bites And Blows Upon My Body, Even Till I Shrink With Cold, I Smile.

From You Have I Been Absent In The Spring, When Proud Pied April, Dressed In All His Trim, Hath Put A Spirit Of Youth In Every Thing.

So Are You To My Thoughts As Food To Life, Or As Sweet Seasoned Showers Are To The Ground.