This Is The Very Ecstasy Of Love.

I Have More Care To Stay Than Will To Go.

Flower Of This Purple Dye, Hit With Cupid's Archery, Sink In Apple Of His Eye.

If To Do Were As Easy As To Know What Were Good To Do, Chapels Had Been Churches, And Poor Men's Cottage Princes' Palaces.

Lovers Ever Run Before The Clock

To Be In Love, Where Scorn Is Bought With Groans; Coy Looks, With Heart-sore Sighs; One Fading Moment's Mirth