Well-apparel'd April On The Heel

Words Without Thoughts Never To Heaven Go.

My Glass Shall Not Persuade Me I Am Old, So Long As Youth And Thou Are Of One Date; But When In Thee Time's Furrows I Behold, Then Look I Death My Days Should Expiate.

No, No, I Am But Shadow Of Myself: You Are Deceived, My Substance Is Not Here.

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

That Thou Art Blamed Shall Not Be Thy Defect, For Slander's Mark Was Ever Yet The Fair; The Ornament Of Beauty Is Suspect, A Crow That Flies In Heaven's Sweetest Air.