Trust not your daughter's minds By what you see them act.
Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
Nor age so eat up my invention.
I wish you all the joy that you can wish.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, 'This poet lies; Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.