It Hurts Not The Tongue To Give

The Moon's An Arrant Thief, And Her Pale Fire She Snatches From The Sun.

Give Me That Man That Is Not Passion's Slave, And I Will Wear Him In My Heart's Core, In My Heart Of Heart, As I Do Thee.

This Is The Short And The Long Of It.

Love Is Blind, It Stops Lovers Seeing The Silly Things They Do.

You May My Glories And My State Depose, But Not My Griefes; Still Am I King Of Those.