For Love, Thou Know'st, Is

What Can Be Avoided Whose End Is Purposed By The Mighty Gods?

Farewell! God Knows When We Shall Meet Again.

We Are Time's Subjects, And Time Bids Be Gone.

The Past Is Prologue.

She Never Told Her Love, But Let Concealment, Like A Worm 'i Th' Bud, Feed On Her Damask Cheek. She Pinned In Thought; And, With A Green And Yellow Melancholy, She Sat Like Patience On A Monument, Smiling At Grief. Was Not This Love Indeed? We Men May Say More, Swear More; But Indeed Our Shows Are More Than Will; For We Still Prove Much In Our Vows But Little In Our Love.