Mine Eyes Are Full Of Tears, My

For Naught So Vile That On The Earth Doth Live But To The Earth Some Special Good Doth Give.

I Am Not In The Giving Vein Today.

True, I Talk Of Dreams, Which Are The Children Of An Idle Brain, Begot Of Nothing But Vain Fantasy, Which Is As Thin Of Substance As The Air, And More Inconstant Than The Wind, Who Woos Even Now The Frozen Bosom Of The North, And, Being Anger'd, Puffs Away From Thence, Turning His Side To The Dew-dropping South.

Grace And Remembrance Be To You Both.

I Have Seen Better Faces In My Time Than Stands On Any Shoulder That I See Before Me At This Instant.