A Countenance More In Sorrow Than In

Though This Be Madness, Yet There Is Method In't.

I Cannot But Remember Such Things Were That Were Most Precious To Me.

Good God, The Souls Of All My Tribe Defend From Jealousy!

Love Is Begun By Time And Time Qualifies The Spark And Fire Of It.

Look What Thy Soul Holds Dear, Imagine It To Lie That Way Thou Goest, Not Whence Thou Com'st. Suppose The Singing Birds Musicians, The Grass Whereon Thou Tread'st The Presence Strewed, The Flowers Fair Ladies, And Thy Steps No More Than A Delight Measure Or A Dance; For Gnarling Sorrow Hath Less Power To Bite The Man That Mocks At It And Sets It Light.