I Have Pursued Her, As Love Hath

Come, Lady, Die To Live.

O How Wretched Is That Poor Man That Hangs On Princes Favors! There Is Betwixt That Smile We Would Aspire To, That Sweet Aspect Of Princes, And Their Ruin, More Pangs And Fears Than Wars Or Women Have, And When He Falls, He Falls Like Lucifer, Never To Hope Again.

I Would Challenge You To A Battle Of Wits, But I See You Are Unarmed!

So Many Hours Must I Take My Rest; So Many Hours Must I Contemplate.

Silence Is Only Commendable In A Neat's Tongue Dried, And A Maid Not Vendible.