Whatever Praises Itself But In The Deed,

Words, Vows, Gifts, Tears, And Love's Full Sacrifice, He Offers In Another's Enterprise; But More In Troilus Thousand-fold I See Than In The Glass Of Pandar's Praise May Be, Yet Hold I Off.

I Hope To See London Once Ere I Die.

Your Cause Of Sorrow Must Not Be Measured By His Worth, For Then It Hath No End.

I Charge Thee, Hence, And Do Not Haunt Me Thus.

O, Grief Hath Changed Me Since You Saw Me Last, And Careful Hours With Time's Deformed Hand Have Written Strange Defeatures In My Face. But Tell Me Yet, Dost Thou Not Know My Voice?