Young Adam Cupid, He That Shot So

If Yon Bethink Yourself Of Any Crime Unreconcil'd As Yet To Heaven And Grace, Solicit For It Straight.

My Love Is Deep; The More I Give To Thee, The More I Have, Both Are Infinite.

O, Spirit Of Love, How Quick And Fresh Art Thou!

Then Was I As A Tree Whose Boughs Did Bend With Fruit; But In One Night, A Storm Or Robbery, Call It What You Will, Shook Down My Mellow Hangings, Nay, My Leaves, And Left Me Bare To Weather.

I Stand For Judgment: Answer: Shall I Have It?