Wilt Thou Whip Thine Own Faults In

I'll Forbear; And Am Fallen Out With My More Headier Will To Take The Indisposed And Sickly Fit For The Sound Man.

The Blood Weeps From My Heart When I Do Shape, In Forms Imaginary, Th' Unguided Days And Rotten Times That You Shall Look Upon When I Am Sleeping With My Ancestors.

Ay Me! Sad Hours Seem Long.

In Black Ink My Love May Still Shine Bright.

Lilies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.