A Lover's Eyes Will Gaze

When Death Doth Close His Tender Dying Eyes.

We Are The Lords Of All Eternity

Of All Complexions The Culled Sovereignty Do Meet, As At A Fair, In Her Fair Cheek, Where Several Worthies Make One Dignity, Where Nothing Wants That Want Itself Doth Seek.

I Heard A Bustling Rumor Like A Fray, And The Wind Blows It From The Capitol.

Oh, I Am Fortune's Fool!