And How His Audit Stands

I'll Make Death Love Me; For I Will Contend Even With His Pestilent Scythe.

Affection Is A Coal That Must Be Cooled; Else, Suffered, It Will Set The Heart On Fire.

My Love Admits No Qualifying Dross

O! Let Me Not Be Mad, Not Mad, Sweet Heaven; Keep Me In Temper; I Would Not Be Mad!

And Ruin`d Love When It Is Built Anew, Grows Fairer Than At First, More Strong, Far Greater