As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.

“So well thy words become thee as thy wounds,They smack of honor both.”

“O, if I say, you look upon this verse,When I perhaps compounded am with clay,Do…”

“So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. But they are creul tears. This sorrow…”

“Where souls do couch on flowers we’ll hand in hand...”