She Moves Me Not, Or

But It Is A Melancholy Of Mine Own, Compounded Of Many Simples, Extracted From Many Objects, And Indeed The Sundry Contemplation Of My Travels, Which, By Often Rumination, Wraps Me In The Most Humorous Sadness.

And Worse I May Be Yet: The Worst Is Not So Long As We Can Say 'this Is The Worst.

You Are My True And Honourable Wife; As Dear To Me As The Ruddy Drops That Visit My Sad Heart.

As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May, And As Gorgeous As The Sun In Midsummer.

And Thence From Athens Turn Away Our Eyes To Seek New Friends And Stranger Companies.