Not An Angel Of The Air, Bird

To You Your Father Should Be As A God.

These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends And In Their Triump Die, Like Fire And Powder Which, As They Kiss, Consume

And In Some Perfumes There Is More Delight Than In The Breath That From My Mistress Reeks. I Love To Hear Her Speak, Yet Well I Know That Music Hath A Far More Pleasing Sound.

Shine Out Fair Sun, Till I Have Bought A Glass, That I May See My Shadow As I Pass.

I See, Sir, You Are Liberal In Offers. You Taught Me First To Beg, And Now Methinks You Teach Me How A Beggar Should Be Answered.