O Heresy In Fair, Fit For These

I Can No Longer Live By Thinking.

I Do Beseech You- Though I Perchance Am Vicious In My Guess , That Your Wisdom Yet From One That So Imperfectly Conjects Would Take No Notice, Nor Build Yourself A Trouble Out Of His Scattering And Unsure Observance.

Being Your Slave What Should I Do But Tend, Upon The Hours, And Times Of Your Desire? I Have No Precious Time At All To Spend; Nor Services To Do Till You Require.

Be To Yourself As You Would To Your Friend.

Merrily, Merrily Shall I Live Now, Under The Blossom That Hangs On The Bough.