I Have Shot Mine Arrow O'er The

One Woman Is Fair, Yet I Am Well; Another Is Wise, Yet I Am Well; Another Virtuous, Yet I Am Well; But Till All Graces Be In One Woman, One Woman Shall Not Come In My Grace.

What Time Hath Scanted Men In Hair, He Hath Given Them In Wit.

Sin From Thy Lips? O Trespass Sweetly Urged! Give Me My Sin Again.

Let Fame, That All Hunt After In Their Lives, Live Regist'red Upon Our Brazen Tombs And Then Grace Us In The Disgrace Of Death; When, Spite Of Cormorant Devouring Time, Th' Endeavor Of This Present Breath May Buy That Honor Which Shall Bate His Scythe's Keen Edge And Make Us Heirs Of All Eternity.

I Will Be Correspondent To Command, And Do My Spiriting Gently.