Spirits Are Not Finely Touched But To

Ere I Could Make Thee Open Thy White Hand, And Clap Thyself My Love; Then Didst Thou Utter, I Am Your's For Ever!

For It Falls Out That What We Have We Prize Not To The Worth Whiles We Enjoy It, But Being Lacked And Lost, Why, Then We Rack The Value, Then We Find The Virtue That Possession Would Not Show Us While It Was Ours.

I, Thus Neglecting Worldly Ends, All Dedicated To Closeness And The Bettering Of My Mind.

Four Days Will Quickly Steep Themselves In Nights; Four Nights Will Quickly Dream Away The Time; And Then The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow New Bent In Heaven, Shall Behold The Night Of Our Solemnities.

Let Us, Like Merchants, Show Our Foulest Wares, And Think Perchance They'll Sell; If Not, The Lustre Of The Better Yet To Show Shall Show The Better.