Melancholy Is The Nurse Of

Beauty Is But A Vain And Doubtful Good; A Shining Gloss That Fadeth Suddenly; A Flower That Dies When It Begins To Bud; A Doubtful Good, A Gloss, A Glass, A Flower, Lost, Faded, Broken, Dead Within An Hour.

She Moves Me Not, Or Not Removes At Least Affection's Edge In Me.

To Fear The Foe, Since Fear Oppresseth Strength, Gives, In Your Weakness, Strength Unto Your Foe, And So Your Follies Fight Against Yourself. Fear, And Be Slain--so Worse Can Come To Fight; And Fight And Die Is Death Destroying Death, Where Fearing Dying Pays Death Servile Breath.

These Times Of Woe Afford No Time To Woo.

Beauty, Wit, High Birth, Vigour Of Bone, Desert In Service, Love, Friendship, Charity, Are Subjects All To Envious And Calumniating Time.