There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have, and I to live and die her slave.
And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness!
And in some perfumes there is more delight than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know that music hath a far more pleasing sound.
Tears water our growth.
A very honest woman but something given to lie