Many A Man's Tongue Shakes Out His

Daffodils, That Come Before The Swallow Dares, And Take The Winds Of March With Beauty.

O Heaven! Were Man, But Constant, He Were Perfect.

The Foole Doth Thinke He Is Wise, But The Wiseman Knowes Himselfe To Be A Foole.

Rich Gifts Wax Poor When Givers Prove Unkind.

Day, Night, Late, Early, At Home, Abroad, Alone, In Company, Waking Or Sleeping, Still My Care Hath Been To Have Her Match'd; And Having Now Provided A Gentleman Of Princely Parentage, Of Fair Demesnes, Youthful, And Nobly Train'd, Stuff'd, As They Say, With Honourable Parts, Proportion'd As One's Thought Would Wish A Man- And Then To Have A Wretched Puling Fool, A Whining Mammet, In Her Fortune's Tender, To Answer 'i'll Not Wed, I Cannot Love; I Am Too Young, I Pray You Pardon Me'!