I, Thus Neglecting Worldly Ends, All Dedicated

She Cannot Love, Nor Take No Shape Nor Project Or Affection, She Is So Self-endeared

Were It Good To Set The Exact Wealth Of All Our States All At One Cast? To Set So Rich A Main On The Nice Hazard Of One Doubtful Hour? It Were Not Good.

Perseverance, My Dear Lord. Keeps Honour Bright.

She Never Told Her Love, But Let Concealment, Like A Worm 'i Th' Bud, Feed On Her Damask Cheek. She Pinned In Thought; And, With A Green And Yellow Melancholy, She Sat Like Patience On A Monument, Smiling At Grief. Was Not This Love Indeed? We Men May Say More, Swear More; But Indeed Our Shows Are More Than Will; For We Still Prove Much In Our Vows But Little In Our Love.

Now The Time Is Come, That France Must Veil Her Lofty-plumed Crest, And Let Her Head Fall Into England's Lap.