I have done one braver thing than all the Worthies did, and yet a braver thence doth spring, which is, to keep that hid.

If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?

Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.

The day breaks not, it is my heart.

And dare love that, and say so too, And forget the He and She.

That thou remember them, some claim as debt; I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.