I Wonder That You Will Still Be

I Durst Not Laugh For Fear Of Opening My Lips And Receiving The Bad Air.

If I Be Waspish, Best Beware My Sting.

Costly Thy Habit [dress] As Thy Purse Can Buy; But Not Expressed In Fancy - Rich, Not Gaudy. For The Apparel Oft Proclaims The Man.

For Where Thou Art, There Is The World Itself, With Every Several Pleasure In The World, And Where Thou Art Not, Desolation.

To Bed, To Bed; Sleep Kill Those Pretty Eyes, And Give As Soft Attachment To Thy Senses, As Infants Empty Of All Thought.