And she's fair I love.
Ornament is but the guiled shore to a most dangerous sea.
O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, with sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear.
He capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May.
I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.