The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow

Give Me My Sin Again.

Besides, They Are Our Outward Consciences, And Preachers To Us All, Admonishing That We Should Drew Us Fairly For Our End.

You Are A Lover. Borrow Cupid's Wings And Soar With Them Above A Common Bound.

To Wilful Men, The Injuries That They Themselves Procure Must Be Their Schoolmasters.

Then Know, That I Have Little Wealth To Lose. A Man I Am, Crossed With Adversity; My Riches Are These Poor Habiliments, Of Which If You Should Here Disfurnish Me, You Take The Sum And Substance That I Have.