The Chameleon Love Can Feed

So Full Of Artless Jealousy Is Guilt, It Spills Itself In Fearing To Be Spilt.

At Christmas, I No More Desire A Rose.

Wait For The Season When To Cast Good Counsels Upon Subsiding Passion.

So Weary With Disasters, Tugg'd With Fortune, That I Would Set My Life On Any Chance, To Mend, Or Be Rid On't.

The Love Of Heaven Makes One Heavenly.