For Thou Hast Given Me In This

His Steeds To Water At Those Springs On Chaliced Flowers That Lies; And Winking Mary-buds Begin To Ope Their Golden Eyes: With Every Thing That Pretty Is, My Lady Sweet, Arise.

Our Holy Lives Must Win A New World's Crown.

Look To Her, Moor, If Thou Has Eyes To See. She Has Deceived Her Father, And May Thee.

By Heaven, I Do Love: And It Hath Taught Me To Rhyme, And To Be Mekancholy.

O, Swear Not By The Moon, The Fickle Moon, The Inconstant Moon, That Monthly Changes In Her Circle Orb, Lest That Thy Love Prove Likewise Variable