Where It Concerns Himself, Who's Angry At

O! How Vain And Vile A Passion Is This Fear! What Base Uncomely Things It Makes Men Do.

Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once Posses-seth, He Can Never Hold His Peace.

Nor Shall Our Cups Make Any Guilty Men; But At Our Parting, We Will Be, As When We Innocently Met.

Who Casts To Write A Living Line, Must Sweat.

I Now Think, Love Is Rather Deaf, Than Blind, For Else It Could Not Be, That She, Whom I Adore So Much, Should So Slight Me, And Cast My Love Behind.