I Thought My Heart Had Been Wounded

Give Me My Sin Again.

You Abilities Are Too Infant-like For Doing Much Alone.

Ay, But To Die, And Go We Know Not Where.

Look, How This Ring Encompasseth Thy Finger, Even So Thy Breast Encloseth My Poor Heart; Wear Both Of Them, For Both Of Them Are Thine.

Then Let Thy Love Be Younger Than Thyself, Or Thy Affection Cannot Hold The Bent.