I Have Of Late--but Wherefore I Know

And Therefore, — Since I Cannot Prove A Lover, To Entertain These Fair Well-spoken Days, — I Am Determined To Prove A Villain, And Hate The Idle Pleasures Of These Days.

Winter's Not Gone Yet, If The Wild Geese Fly That Way.

A Young Woman In Love Always Looks Like Patience On A Monument Smiling At Grief

Give Me A Bowl Of Wine, In This I Bury All Unkindness.

A Man Can Die But Once.