How Ill White Hairs Become A Fool

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

Say, What Abridgement Have You For This Evening? What Masque, What Music? How Shall We Beguile The Lazy Time If Not With Some Delight?

O Horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue Nor Heart Cannot Conceive Nor Name Thee!

If Thou Engrossest All The Griefs Are Thine, Thou Robb'st Me Of A Moiety.

Grief Hath Two Tongues; And Never Woman Yet Could Rule Them Both Without Ten Women's Wit.