Wait For The Season When To Cast

The Stroke Of Death Is As A Lover's Pinch, Which Hurts And Is Desired.

As You Are Old And Reverend, You Should Be Wise.

My Thoughts Are Whirled Like A Potter's Wheel; I Know Not Where I Am Nor What I Do.

O Villains, Vipers, Dogs, Easily Won To Fawn On Any Man!

Love's Not Time's Fool, Though Rosy Lips And Cheeks Within His Bending Sickle's Compass Come.