Love That We Cannot Have Is The

I Scorn You, Scurvy Companion.

The Rarer Action Is In Virtue Than In Vengeance.

Come, Go With Us, Speak Fair; You May Salve So, Not What Is Dangerous Present, But The Los Of What Is Past.

The Brightness Of Her Cheek Would Shame Those Stars As Daylight Doth A Lamp; Her Eyes In Heaven Would Through The Airy Region Stream So Bright That Birds Would Sing, And Think It Were Not Night.

Within The Book And Volume Of Thy Brain.