I Will Praise Any Man

O Love, Be Moderate, Allay Thy Ecstasy, In Measure Rain Thy Joy, Scant This Excess!

Love Runs Away From Those Chasing Her, And Those Who Run Away, She Throws Herself On His Neck.

Art Made Tongue-tied By Authority.

Lady, You Are The Cruel'st She Alive If You Will Lead These Graces To The Grave And Leave The World No Copy.

The Bird That Hath Been Limed In A Bush, With Trembling Wings Misdoubteth Every Bush.