Make the upcoming hour overflow with joy, and let pleasure drown the brim.
How wayward is this foolish love that, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse and presently, all humble, kiss the rod.
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
Our wills and fates do so contrary run.