A Sad Tale's Best For Winter. I

I Know A Lady In Venice Would Have Walked Barefoot To Palestine For A Touch Of His Nether Lip

Or Are You Like The Painting Of A Sorrow, A Face Without A Heart?

Let Men Say We Be Men Of Good Government, Being Governed, As The Sea Is, By Our Noble And Chaste Mistress The Moon, Under Whose Countenance We Steal.

As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May, And As Gorgeous As The Sun In Midsummer.

For In The Fatness Of These Pursy Times Virtue Itself Of Vice Must Pardon Beg.