Sweets To The Sweet.

I Have Lov'd Her Ever Since I Saw Her; And Still I See Her Beautiful

Which Means She To Deceive, Father Or Mother?

Yet Nor The Lays Of Birds Nor The Sweet Smell Of Different Flowers In Odour And In Hue Could Make Me Any Summer's Story Tell, Or From Their Proud Lap Pluck Them Where They Grew; Nor Did I Wonder At The Lily's White, Nor Praise The Deep Vermilion In The Rose; They Were But Sweet, But Figures Of Delight, Drawn After You, You Pattern Of All Those.

Here, Thou Incestuous, Murderous, Damned Dane, Drink Off This Potion!

Love Is Too Young To Know What Conscience Is.