She that has not heart,
must it so wish.
She has a heart so full of grief
it cannot see its own 
for flesh it creeps
and steals upon us whilst we do sleep
bury our heads
on pillows soft with longing;
take up our dreams
and fight with no small cause
the fight which sees us lose 
our selves to the little deaths
to the pangs of smaller slumbers
in lover's arms

What meaning virtue?
A drunkard and a fool
both do deceive and well, 
with wit besotted