How Much Better Is It To Weep

Unless Hours Were Cups Of Sack, And Minutes Capons, And Clocks The Tongues Of Bawds, And Dials The Signs Of Leaping-houses, And The Blessed Sun Himself A Fair Hot Wench In Flame-colored Taffeta, I See No Reason Why Thou Shouldst Be So Superfluous To Demand The Time Of The Day.

When Heaven Doth Weep, Doth Not The Earth O'erflow? If The Winds Rage, Doth Not The Sea Wax Mad, Threatening The Welkin With His Big-swoln Face? And Wilt Thou Have A Reason For This Coil? I Am The Sea; Hark, How Her Sighs Do Blow! She Is The Weeping Welkin, I The Earth: Then Must My Sea Be Moved With Her Sighs; Then Must My Earth With Her Continual Tears Become A Deluge, Overflow'd And Drown'd: For Why My Bowels Cannot Hide Her Woes, But Like A Drunkard Must I Vomit Them. Then Give Me Leave, For Losers Will Have Leave To Ease Their Stomachs With Their Bitter Tongues.

To Be In Love- Where Scorn Is Bought With Groans, Coy Looks With Heart-sore Sighs, One Fading Moment's Mirth With Twenty Watchful, Weary, Tedious Nights; If Haply Won, Perhaps A Hapless Gain; If Lost, Why Then A Grievous Labour Won; However, But A Folly Bought With Wit, Or Else A Wit By Folly Vanquished.

Tis A Cruelty To Load A Fallen Man.

Villains, Vipers, Damn'd Without Redemption; Dogs, Easily Won To Fawn On Any Man; Snakes In My Heart-blood Warm'd, That Sing My Heart; Three Judases, Each One Thrice Worse Than Judas.