The Eyes Are The Window To Your

But I, That Am Not Shaped For Sportive Tricks, Nor Made To Court An Amorous Looking-glass; I, That Am Rudely Stamped, And Want Love's Majesty To Strut Before A Wanton Ambling Nymph.

Who Soars Too Near The Sun, With Golden Wings, Melts Them.

Things Won Are Done, Joy's Soul Lies In The Doing.

Now The Fair Goddess, Fortune, Fall Deep In Love With Thee, And Her Great Charms Misguide Thy Opposers' Swords!

For In My Youth I Never Did Apply Hot And Rebellious Liquors In My Blood.