Covering Discretion With A Coat

Shall I Never See A Bachelor Of Three Score Again?

She's Gone. I Am Abused, And My Relief Must Be To Loathe Her.

Tis Better Using France Than Trusting France; Let Us Be Back'd With God, And With The Seas, Which He Hath Given For Fence Impregnable, And With Their Helps Only Defend Ourselves; In Them, And In Ourselves, Our Safety Lies.

Thine Eyes I Love, And They, As Pitying Me, Knowing Thy Heart Torment Me With Disdain, Have Put On Black And Loving Mourners Be, Looking With Pretty Ruth Upon My Pain. And Truly Not The Morning Sun Of Heaven Better Becomes The Grey Cheeks Of The East, Nor That Full Star That Ushers In The Even, Doth Half That Glory To The Sober West, As Those Two Mourning Eyes Become Thy Face: O! Let It Then As Well Beseem Thy Heart To Mourn For Me Since Mourning Doth Thee Grace, And Suit Thy Pity Like In Every Part. Then Will I Swear Beauty Herself Is Black, And All They Foul That Thy Complexion Lack

Give Me My Sin Again.