Men have marble, women waxen, minds.
Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
But yet, I say, if imputation and strong circumstances, which lead directly to the door of truth, will give you satisfaction, you may have it.
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.
Music, moody food Of us that trade in love.
If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.