You Have Her Father's Love, Demetrius; Let

Gives Not The Hawthorn Bush A Sweeter Shade To Shepherds, Looking On Their Silly Sheep, Than Doth A Rich Embroider'd Canopy To Kings That Fear Their Subjects Treachery?

The Pleasing Punishment That Women Bear.

Thus Sometimes Hath The Brightest Day A Cloud; And After Summer Evermore Succeeds Barren Winter, With His Wrathful Nipping Cold: So Cares And Joys Abound, As Seasons Fleet.

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent Made Glorious Summer By This Sun Of York; And All The Clouds That Lour'd Upon Our House In The Deep Bosom Of The Ocean Buried.

Lovers Can Do Their Amorous Rites By Their Own Beauties