She Cannot Love, Nor Take No Shape

Like Patience Gazing On Kings' Graves, And Smiling Extremity Out Of Act.

O Mistress Mine, Where Are You Roaming? O, Stay And Hear; Your True Love's Coming, That Can Sing Both High And Low: Trip No Further, Pretty Sweeting; Journeys End In Lovers Meeting, Every Wise Man's Son Doth Know. What Is Love? 'tis Not Hereafter; Present Mirth Hath Present Laughter; What's To Come Is Still Unsure: In Delay There Lies Not Plenty; Then, Come Kiss Me, Sweet And Twenty, Youth's A Stuff Will Not Endure.

Time Doth Transfix The Flourish Set On Youth And Delves The Parallels In Beauty's Brow.

Out, You Tallow-face! You Baggage!

There Is No Love-broker In The World Can More Prevail In Man's Commendation With Woman Than Report Of Valor.