O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenantless; lest, growing ruinous, the building fall and leave no memory of what it was!
To saucy doubts and fears.
For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.
And how his audit stands who knows, save Heaven?
A maiden hath no tongue--but thought.
Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers come to dust.