Stars, Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light

For Precious Friends Hid In Death's Dateless Night.

Sweet Recreation Barred, What Doth Ensue But Moody And Dull Melancholy, Kinsman To Grim And Comfortless Despair.

Show Me A Mistress That Is Passing Fair, What Doth Her Beauty Serve But As A Note Where I May Read Who Pass'd That Passing Fair?

I Can Call Spirits From The Vasty Deep.

All Things That Are, Are With More Spirit Chased Than Enjoyed.