I Had As Lief Have Been Myself

There's Not A Note Of Mine That's Worth The Noting.

Nature Her Custom Holds, Let Shame Say What It Will.

You Saw Her Fair, None Else Being By, Herself Pois'd With Herself In Either Eye; But In That Crystal Scales Let There Be Weigh'd Your Lady's Love Against Some Other Maid That I Will Show You Shining At This Feast, And She Shall Scant Show Well That Now Seems Best.

Now The Melancholy God Protect Thee, And The Tailor Make Thy Garments Of Changeable Taffeta, For Thy Mind Is Opal.

Let Fame, That All Hunt After In Their Lives, Live Regist'red Upon Our Brazen Tombs And Then Grace Us In The Disgrace Of Death; When, Spite Of Cormorant Devouring Time, Th' Endeavor Of This Present Breath May Buy That Honor Which Shall Bate His Scythe's Keen Edge And Make Us Heirs Of All Eternity.