Ten Masts Make Not The Altitude Which

The Thorny Point Of Bare Distress Hath Ta'en From Me The Show Of Smooth Civility; Yet Am I Inland Bred And Know Some Nurture.

The Ostentation Of Our Love, Which, Left Unshown, Is Often Left Unloved.

O No, Thy Love Though Much, Is Not So Great, It Is My Love That Keeps Mine Eye Awake, Mine Own True Love That Doth My Rest Defeat, To Play The Watchman Ever For Thy Sake. For Thee Watch I, Whilst Thou Dost Wake Elsewhere, From Me Far Off, With Others All Too Near.

A Heaven On Earth I Have Won By Wooing Thee.

I Do The Wrong, And First Begin To Brawl. The Secret Mischiefs That I Set Abroach I Lay Unto The Grievous Charge Of Others.