I Have Of Late--but Wherefore I Know

Your Face Is A Book, Where Men May Read Strange Matters.

There Is Flattery In Friendship.

Why Then, O Brawling Love! O Loving Hate! O Any Thing, Of Nothing First Create! O Heavy Lightness, Serious Vanity, Misshapen Chaos Of Well-seeming Forms, Feather Of Lead, Bright Smoke, Cold Fire, Sick Health, Still-waking Sleep, That Is Not What It Is! This Love Feel I, That Feel No Love In This.

A Great While Ago The World Begun, With Hey, Ho, The Wind And The Rain; But That's All One, Our Play Is Done, And We'll Strive To Please You Every Day.

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, For As You Were When First Your Eye I Ey'd, Such Seems Your Beauty Still.