There Are No Tricks In Plain And

Keep Up Your Bright Swords, For The Dew Will Rust Them.

I, Measuring His Affections By My Own, Which Then Most Sought Where Most Might Not Be Found, Being One Too Many By My Weary Self, Pursued My Humor Not Pursuing His, And Gladly Shunned Who Gladly Fled From Me.

My Love Is Thaw'd; Which, Like A Waxen Image 'gainst A Fire, Bears No Impression Of The Thing It Was

To Whom God Will, There Be The Victory.

Old Fashions Please Me Best; I Am Not So Nice To Change True Rules For Odd Inventions.