Because I breathe not love to everie one,
  Nor do not use set colors for to weare,
  Nor nourish special locks of vowèd haire,
Nor give each speech a full point of a groane,—
The courtlie nymphs, acquainted with the moane
  Of them who on their lips Love’s standard beare,
  “What! he?” say they of me. “Now I dare sweare
He cannot love:...