A Time, Methinks, Too Short To Make

You Are My True And Honourable Wife; As Dear To Me As The Ruddy Drops That Visit My Sad Heart.

Great Men Should Drink With Harness On Their Throats.

Where Hateful Death Put On His Ugliest Mask.

But It Is A Melancholy Of Mine Own, Compounded Of Many Simples, Extracted From Many Objects, And Indeed The Sundry Contemplation Of My Travels, Which, By Often Rumination, Wraps Me In The Most Humorous Sadness.

I Wonder That You Will Still Be Talking. Nobody Marks You.