Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
He capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May.
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
Winter, which, being full of care, makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.