Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
Which can say more than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity
Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.