But Clay And Clay Differs In Dignity,

Myself Will Straight Aboard, And To The State This Heavy Act With Heavy Heart Relate.

To Be Merry Best Becomes You; For, Out Of Question, You Were Born In A Merry Hour.

Dissembling Courtesy! How Fine This Tyrant Can Trickle When She Wounds!

Not From The Stars Do I My Judgement Pluck, And Yet Methinks I Have Astronomy. But Not To Tell Of Good Or Evil Luck, Of Plagues, Of Dearths, Or Season's Quality; Nor Can I Fortune To Brief Minutes Tell ... Or Say With Princes If It Shall Go Well.

Graze On My Lips; And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.