I Have Touch'd The Highest Point Of

Though Music Oft Hath Such A Charm To Make Bad Good, And Good Provoke To Harm.

If I Could Write The Beauty Of Your Eyes And In Fresh Numbers Number All Your Graces, The Age To Come Would Say, 'this Poet Lies; Such Heavenly Touches Ne'er Touch'd Earthly Faces.'

Ay Me! For Aught That Ever I Could Read, Could Ever Hear By Tale Or History, The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth.

A Hit, A Very Palpable Hit.

As Chaste As Unsunned Snow.