Tis No Sin For A Man To

I Had Rather Be A Dog, And Bay The Moon, Than Such A Roman.

At Christmas I No More Desire A Rose Than Wish A Snow In May's New-fangled Mirth; But Like Of Each Thing That In Season Grows.

Thank Me No Thankings, Nor Proud Me No Prouds.

So We Grew Together Like To A Double Cherry, Seeming Parted, But Yet An Union In Partition, Two Lovely Berries Molded On One Stem.

When Our Actions Do Not, Our Fears Make Us Traitors.