I Would That I Were

O Call Not Me To Justify The Wrong, That Thy Unkindness Lays Upon My Heart, Wound Me Not With Thine Eye But With Thy Tongue, Use Power With Power, And Slay Me Not By Art.

Promising Is The Very Air O' The Time; It Opens The Eyes Of Expectation.

Flower Of This Purple Dye, Hit With Cupid's Archery, Sink In Apple Of His Eye.

Ay, When Fowls Have No Feathers And Fish Have No Fin.

Small To Greater Matters Must Give Way.