My Love Is As A Fever, Longing

Write Till Your Ink Be Dry, And With Your Tears Moist It Again, And Frame Some Feeling Line That May Discover Such Integrity.

I Have Trod A Measure, I Have Flattered A Lady, I Have Been Politic With My Friend, Smooth With Mine Enemy.

As Chaste As Is The Bud Ere It Be Blown.

Let Me Not Live, After My Flame Lacks Oil, To Be The Snuff Of Younger Spirits.

The Best Is Yet To Come.