I Have Sounded The Very Base-string Of

Men's Eyes Were Made To Look, And Let Them Gaze. I Will Not Budge For No Man's Pleasure.

For Youth No Less Becomes The Light And Careless Livery That It Wears, Than Settled Age His Sables, And His Weeds Importing Health And Graveness.

Now The Melancholy Of God Protect Thee, And The Tailor Make Thy Doublet Of Changable Taffata, For Thy Mind Is A Very Opal. I Would Have Men Of Such Constancy Put To Sea, That Their Business Might Be Everything, And Their Intent Everywhere, For That's It, That Always Makes A Good Voyage Of Nothing.

If It Were Done When 'tis Done, Then 'twere Well. It Were Done Quickly.

Where Souls Do Couch On Flowers We'll Hand In Hand.