Silence Is The Perfect Herald Of Joy.

And To The English Court Assemble Now, From Every Region, Apes Of Idleness!

Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loath To Prove Reason With Them.

Two Loves I Have, Of Comfort And Despair, Which Like Two Spirits Do Suggest Me Still: The Better Angel Is A Man Right Fair, The Worser Spirit A Woman Coloured Ill.

Thanks To Men Of Noble Minds, Is Honorable Meed.

But Thou Art Fair, And At Thy Birth, Dear Boy, Nature And Fortune Join'd To Make Thee Great: Of Nature's Gifts Thou Mayst With Lilies Boast, And With The Half-blown Rose; But Fortune, O!