What's Done Cannot Be Undone. To Bed,

All Fancy-sick She Is And Pale Of Cheer, With Sighs Of Love, That Costs The Fresh Blood Dear.

Patience Is Sottish, And Impatience Does Become A Dog That's Mad.

Now Get You To My Lady's Chamber, And Tell Her, Let Her Paint An Inch Thick, To This Favour She Must Come; Make Her Laugh At That.

Let Me Confess That We Two Must Be Twain, Although Our Undivided Loves Are One.

Love Does Not See With The Eyes, But With The Soul.