Thou Art Figured Blind, And Yet We

Thou Art Figured Blind, And Yet We Borrow Our Best Sight From Thee.

But Married Once, A Man Is Stak'd Or Pown'd, And Cannot Graze Beyond His Own Hedge.

Ambition, In A Private Man Is A Vice, Is In A Prince The Virtue.

Malice Scorned, Puts Out Itself; But Argued, Give A Kind Of Credit To A False Accusation.

Shall This Nectar Run Useless, Then, To Waste? Or ... These Lips, That Open Like The Morn, Breathing Perfumes, On Such As Dare Approach Them, Be Untouch'd? They Must--nay, 'tis In Vain To Make Resistance-- Be Often Kissed And Tasted.