My Wits Begin To Turn.

They Have Been Grand-jurymen Since Before Noah Was A Sailor

It Is As Easy To Count Atomies As To Resolve The Propositions Of A Lover.

He Is The Half Part Of A Blessed Man, Left To Be Finished By Such As She; And She A Fair Divided Excellence, Whose Fullness Of Perfection Lies In Him.

Fair Ladies, Masked, Are Roses In Their Bud; Dismasked, The Damask Sweet Commixture Shown, Are Angels Vailing Clouds, Or Roses Blown.

Love Goes Toward Love.