Mend When Thou Canst; Be Better At

Love's Gentle Spring Doth Always Fresh Remain.

For Such Things As You, I Can Scarce Think There's Any, Ye're So Slight.

Thou Hast No Figures Nor No Fantasies Which Busy Care Draws In The Brains Of Men; Therefore Thou Sleep'st So Sound.

I Do Not Seek To Quench Your Love's Hot Fire, But Qualify The Fire's Extreme Rage, Lest It Should Burn Above The Bounds Of Reason.

They Lie Deadly That Tell You Have Good Faces.