There Is Nothing Serious In

Love Is Blind, It Stops Lovers Seeing The Silly Things They Do.

Go, Write It In A Martial Hand; Be Curst And Brief; It Is No Matter How Witty, So It Be Eloquent And Fun Of Invention: Taunt Him With The Licence Of Ink: If Thou Thou'st Him Some Thrice, It Shall Not Be Amiss; And As Many Lies As Will Lie In Thy Shee.

There Lives Within The Very Flame Of Love A Kind Of Wick Or Snuff That Will Abate It.

Stars, Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light See My Black And Deep Desires.

Now The Melancholy God Protect Thee, And The Tailor Make Thy Garments Of Changeable Taffeta, For Thy Mind Is Opal.