Where The Greater Malady Is Fixed, The

You Cannot Call It Love, For At Your Age The Heyday In The Blood Is Tame

And Since You Know You Cannot See Yourself, So Well As By Reflection, I, Your Glass, Will Modestly Discover To Yourself, That Of Yourself Which You Yet Know Not Of.

I Shall Despair. There Is No Creature Loves Me; And If I Die No Soul Will Pity Me: And Wherefore Should They, Since That I Myself Find In Myself No Pity To Myself?

Ten Kisses Short As One, One Long As Twenty.

The Foole Doth Thinke He Is Wise, But The Wiseman Knowes Himselfe To Be A Foole.