I Have Shot Mine Arrow O'er The

If This Were Played Upon A Stage Now, I Could Condemn It As An Improbable Fiction.

Like The Lily That Once Was Mistress Of The Field And Flourished, I'll Hang My Head And Perish.

For Naught So Vile That On The Earth Doth Live But To The Earth Some Special Good Doth Give.

If Love Be Blind, It Best Agrees With Night

What Power Is It Which Mounts My Love So High, That Makes Me See, And Cannot Feed Mine Eye