I do love I know not what; Sometimes this, and sometimes that.
In things a moderation keep; Kings ought to shear, not skin, their sheep.
Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say; But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.
Here a pretty Baby lies Sung asleep with Lullabies: Pray be silent, and not stirre The easie earth that covers her.
Who covets more is evermore a slave.
T is the will that makes the action good or ill.