I Am Falser Than Vows Made In

Weep Not, Sweet Queen, For Trickling Tears Are Vain.

Me, Poor Man, My Library Was Dukedom Large Enough.

Short Summers Lightly Have A Forward Spring.

Why, There's A Wench! Come On, And Kiss Me, Kate.

Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram; The Marigold, That Goes To Bed Wi' The Sun, And With Him Rise Weeping.