O Wretched State! O Bosom Black As

The Cunning Livery Of Hell.

A Great Cause Of The Night Is Lack Of The Sun.

Men's Vows Are Women's Traitors

How Wayward Is This Foolish Love That, Like A Testy Babe, Will Scratch The Nurse And Presently, All Humble, Kiss The Rod.

When I Bestride Him, I Soar, I Am A Hawk: He Trots The Air; The Earth Sings When He Touches It; The Basest Horn Of His Hoof Is More Musical Than The Pipe Of Hermes.