Sweet Flowers Are Slow And Weeds Make

But Virtue Never Will Be Mov'd, Though Lewdness Court It In A Shape Of Heaven.

So Get The Start Of The Majestic World And Bear The Palm Alone.

Yet But Three Come One More. Two Of Both Kinds Make Up Four. Ere She Comes Curst And Sad. Cupid Is A Knavish Lad. Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.

Sorrow, Like A Heavy Ringing Bell, Once Set On Ringing, With Its Own Weight Goes; Then Little Strength Rings Out The Doleful Knell.

My Nature Is Subdued To What It Works In, Like The Dyer's Hand.