O, Then, What Graces In My Love

I Hourly Learn A Doctrine Of Obedience.

So Will I Turn Her Virtue Into Pitch, And Out Of Her Own Goodness Make The Net That Shall Enmesh Them All.

And Flights Of Angels Sing Thee To Thy Rest!

Though Yet Of Hamlet Our Dear Brother's Death The Memory Be Green.

And To Be Merry Best Becomes You; For, Out Of Question, You Were Born In A Merry Hour. Beatrice No, Sure, My Lord, My Mother Cried; But Then There Was A Star Danced, And Under That Was I Born.