Earth-treading Stars That Make Dark Heaven Light

Though Music Oft Hath Such A Charm To Make Bad Good, And Good Provoke To Harm.

Now Stand You On The Top Of Happy Hours, And Many Maiden Gardens Yet Unset, With Virtuous Wish Would Bear You Living Flowers, Much Liker Than Your Painted Counterfeit: So Should The Lines Of Life That Life Repair Which This, Time's Pencil, Or My Pupil Pen Neither In Inward Worth Nor Outward Fair Can Make You Live Your Self In Eyes Of Men.

I Love You More Than Word Can Wield The Matter, Dearer Than Eye-sight, Space And Liberty

Best Men Oft Are Moulded Out Of Faults.

Sycorax Has Grown Into A Hoop