Speak Low, If You Speak Love.

Sleep, That Sometimes Shuts Up Sorrow's Eye.

You Are An Alchemist; Make Gold Of That.

How Much Salt Water Thrown Away In Waste/ To Season Love, That Of It Doth Not Taste.

Some Rise By Sin, And Some By Virtue Fall.

Come Away, Come Away, Death, And In Sad Cypress Let Me Be Laid; Fly Away, Fly Away, Breath, I Am Slain By A Fair Cruel Maid. My Shroud Of White Stuck All With Yew, O Prepare It! My Part Of Death No One So True Did Share It. Not A Flower, Not A Flower Sweet, On My Black Coffin Let There Be Strewn: Not A Friend, Not A Friend Greet My Poor Corpse, Where My Bones Shall Be Thrown. A Thousand Thousand Sighs To Save, Lay Me O Where Sad True Lover Never Find My Grave, To Weep There!