What Early Tongue So Sweet Saluteth Me?

And Caesar Shall Go Forth.

I Am A Feather For Each Wind That Blows

What Power Is It Which Mounts My Love So High, That Makes Me See, And Cannot Feed Mine Eye

Every Offense Is Not A Hate At First.

Our Fancies Are More Giddy And Unfirm, More Longing, Wavering, Sooner Lost And Won, Than Women's Are.