What Else May Hap, To Time I

If Thou Engrossest All The Griefs Are Thine, Thou Robb'st Me Of A Moiety.

Thus Is His Cheek The Map Of Days Outworn.

We Cannot Fight For Love, As Men May Do; We Shou'd Be Woo'd, And Were Not Made To Woo

Cowards Die Many Times Before Their Deaths; The Valiant Never Taste Of Death But Once.

Thrust Your Head Into The Public Street, To Gaze On Christian Fools With Varnish'd Faces.