Time Goes On Crutches Till Love Have

Did He So Often Lodge In Open Field, In Winter's Cold And Summer's Parching Heat, To Conquer France, His True Inheritance?

The Mind Of Guilt Is Full Of Scorpions.

My Nature Is Subdued To What It Works In, Like The Dyer's Hand.

You Are My True And Honourable Wife; As Dear To Me As The Ruddy Drops That Visit My Sad Heart.

How Slow This Old Moon Wanes! She Lingers My Desires, Like To A Stepdame, Or A Dowager, Long Withering Out A Young Man's Revenue.