I Have Nothing Of Woman In Me;

To Lapse In Fulness Is Sorer Than To Lie For Need, And Falsehood Is Worse In Kings Than Beggars.

Is This Government Of Britain's Isle, And This The Royalty Of Albion's King?

How Can Tyrants Safely Govern Home, Unless Abroad They Purchase Great Alliance.

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose, And On Old Hiems' Thin And Icy Crown An Odorous Chaplet Of Sweet Summer Buds Is, As In Mockery, Set. The Spring, The Summer, The Childing Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries, And The Mazed World, By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.

And When Love Speaks, The Voice Of All The Gods Makes Heaven Drowsy With The Harmony.