If It Will Feed Nothing Else, It

Fill All Thy Bones With Aches.

Why, What Should Be The Fear? I Do Not Set My Life At A Pin's Fee.

O, Had I But Followed The Arts!

Give Sorrow Words; The Grief That Does Not Speak Knits Up The O-er Wrought Heart And Bids It Break.

He Wears The Rose Of Youth Upon Him.