We Are Time's Subjects, And Time Bids

When Words Are Scarce They Are Seldom Spent In Vain.

[thine] Face Is Not Worth Sunburning.

The Thing Of Courage As Rous'd With Rage Doth Sympathise, And, With An Accent Tun'd In Self-same Key, Retorts To Chiding Fortune.

O, Men's Vows Are Women's Traitors! All Good Seeming, By Thy Revolt, O Husband, Shall Be Thought Put On For Villainy, Not Born Where't Grows, But Worn A Bait For Ladies.

Had I No Eyes But Ears, My Ears Would Love. That Inward Beauty And Invisible; Or Were I Deaf, Thy Outward Parts Would Move Each Part In Me That Were But Sensible: Though Neither Eyes Nor Ears, To Hear Nor See, Yet Should I Be In Love By Touching Thee. 'say, That The Sense Of Feeling Were Bereft Me, And That I Could Not See, Nor Hear, Nor Touch, And Nothing But The Very Smell Were Left Me, Yet Would My Love To Thee Be Still As Much; For From The Stillitory Of Thy Face Excelling Comes Breath Perfum'd That Breedeth Love By Smelling.