O Shame, Where Is Thy Blush?

Now 'tis Spring, And Weeds Are Shallow-rooted; Suffer Them Now And They'll O'ergrow The Garden.

I Can No Other Answer Make, But, Thanks, And Thanks.

I Have Seen Roses Damask'd, Red And White, But No Such Roses See I In Her Cheeks.

But Thou Art Fair, And At Thy Birth, Dear Boy, Nature And Fortune Join'd To Make Thee Great: Of Nature's Gifts Thou Mayst With Lilies Boast, And With The Half-blown Rose; But Fortune, O!

Now, Infidel, I Have You On The Hip!