To Offend And Judge Are Distinct Offices,

My Affection Hath An Unknown Bottom, Like The Bay Of Portugal.

Lechery, Lechery; Still, Wars And Lechery: Nothing Else Holds Fashion.

Frame Your Mind To Mirth And Merriment Which Bars A Thousand Harms And Lengthens Life.

Look On Beauty, And You Shall See 'tis Purchased By The Weight; Which Therein Works A Miracle In Nature, Making Them Lightest That Wear Most Of It: So Are Those Crisped Snaky Golden Locks Which Make Such Wanton Gambols With The Wind Upon Supposed Fairness, Often Known To Be The Dowry Of A Second Head, The Skull That Bred Them In The Sepulchre.

Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feelings As To Sight?