Now The Melancholy God Protect Thee, And

Why Should You Think That I Should Woo In Scorn? Scorn And Derision Never Come In Tears: Look, When I Vow, I Weep; And Vows So Born, In Their Nativity All Truth Appears. How Can These Things In Me Seem Scorn To You, Bearing The Badge Of Faith, To Prove Them True?

For To Be Wise And Love Exceeds Man's Might.

O Sir, You Are Old; Nature In You Stands On The Very Verge Of Her Confine; You Should Be Ruled And Led By Some Discretion, That Discerns Your Fate Better Than You Yourself.

Conscience Is But A Word That Cowards Use, Devised At First To Keep The Strong In Awe

Tongues I'll Hang On Every Tree That Shall Civil Sayings Show. . . .