My Love Is As A Fever, Longing

There Is No Such Sport As Sport By Sport O'erthrown.

If Thou Remeber'st Not The Slightest Folly That Ever Love Did Make Thee Run Into, Thou Hast Not Lov'd

If You Have Tears, Prepare To Shed Them Now.

The Sands Are Number'd That Make Up My Life; Here Must I Stay, And Here My Life Must End.

The Teeming Autumn Big With Rich Increase, Bearing The Wanton Burden Of The Prime Like Widowed Wombs After Their Lords Decease.