Beauty Itself Doth Of Itself

I Love You With So Much Of My Heart That None Is Left To Protest.

Though Age From Folly Could Not Give Me Freedom, It Does From Childishness.

We Will Have Rings And Things And Fine Array

Bell, Book And Candle Shall Not Drive Me Back, When Gold And Silver Becks Me To Come On.

There's Her Cousin, An She Were Not Possessed With A Fury, Exceeds Her As Much In Beauty As The First Of May Doth The Last Of December.