Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scap'd this sorrow,

Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe;

Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,

To linger out a purpos'd overthrow.

Sonnet xc.

[[163]]

When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,

Hath put a spirit of youth in everything.

Sonnet xcviii.

Still constant is a wondrous excellence.