Thou Art The Mars Of

When Devils Will The Blackest Sins Put On They Do Suggest At First With Heavenly Shows

My Free Drift Halts Not Particularly, But Moves Itself In A Wide Sea Of Wax; No Levelled Malice Infects One Comma In The Course I Hold, But Flies An Eagle Flight, Bold And Forth On, Leaving No Tract Behind.

Love Is A Smoke Rais'd With The Fume Of Sighs; Being Purg'd, A Fire Sparkling In Lovers' Eyes; Being Vex'd, A Sea Nourish'd With Lovers' Tears; What Is It Else? A Madness Most Discreet, A Choking Gall, And A Preserving Sweet.

And Oft, My Jealousy Shapes Faults That Are Not.

Sweet Recreation Barred, What Doth Ensue But Moody And Dull Melancholy, Kinsman To Grim And Comfortless Despair.