Is She Kind As She

O Me, You Juggler, You Canker-blossom, You Thief Of Love!

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presages Of My Speaking Breast.

We Must Love Men, Ere To Us They Will Seem Worthy Of Our Love.

Lives Like A Drunken Sailor On A Mast, Ready With Every Nod To Tumble Down Into The Fatal Bowels Of The Deep.

I Am Now Of All Humors That Have Showed Themselves Humors Since The Old Days Of Goodman Adam To The Pupil Age Of This Present Twelve O'clock At Midnight.