We Must Be Brief When

Would I Were Dead, If God's Good Will Were So, For What Is In This World But Grief And Woe?

Away! Thou'rt Poison To My Blood.

Trifles Light As Air Are To The Jealous Confirmations Strong As Proofs Of Holy Writ.

Can It Be Chat Modesty May More Betray Our Sense Than Woman's Lightness?

This World Is Not For Aye, Nor 'tis Not Strange That Even Our Loves Should With Our Fortunes Change, For 'tis A Question Left Us Yet To Prove, Whether Love Lead Fortune, Or Else Fortune Love.