To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.

They were devils incarnate.

She will die if you love her not, And she will die ere she might make her love known

None can cure their harms by wailing them.

I must be cruel only to be kind; Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus.

Wish chastely, and love dearly.