To be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.
Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
Love that well which thou must leave ere long.
I never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire.
Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
Quote: What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?