I Have Shot Mine Arrow O'er The

This Is The Short And The Long Of It.

Ere I Could Make Thee Open Thy White Hand, And Clap Thyself My Love; Then Didst Thou Utter, I Am Your's For Ever!

The Tartness Of His Face Sours Ripe Grapes.

We See Which Way The Stream Of Time Doth Run.

All Is Well Ended, If The Suit Be Won.