Thou Art A Very Ragged Wart.

Yet Mark'd I Where The Bolt Of Cupid Fell: It Fell Upon A Little Western Flower, Before Milk-white, Now Purple With Love's Wound, And Maidens Call It Love-in-idleness.

I Am Wealthy In My Friends.

There Is Nothing Either Good Or Bad But Thinking Makes It So.

And Yet, By Heaven, I Think My Love As Rare As Any She Belied With False Compare.

I Almost Die For Food, And Let Me Have It!