Virtuous And Fair, Royal And

For As A Surfeit Of The Sweetest Things The Deepest Loathing To The Stomach Brings, Or As Tie Heresies That Men Do Leave Are Hated Most Of Those They Did Deceive, So Thou, My Surfeit And My Heresy, Of All Be Hated, But The Most Of Me!

Though Fortune's Malice Overthrow My State, My Mind Exceeds The Compass Of Her Wheel.

We Cannot Fight For Love, As Men May Do; We Shou'd Be Woo'd, And Were Not Made To Woo

Love's Fire Heats Water, Water Cools Not Love.

To This Urn Let Those Repair That Are Either True Or Fair; For These Dead Birds Sigh A Prayer.