So Many Miseries Have Craz'd My Voice,

Men Have Died From Time To Time, And Worms Have Eaten Them, But Not For Love.

Dirty Days Hath September April June And November From January Up To May The Rain It Raineth Every Day All The Rest Have Thirty-one Without A Blessed Gleam Of Sun And If Any Of Them Had Two-and-thirty They'd Be Just As Wet And Twice As Dirty." "april Hath Put A Spirit Of Youth In Everything.

Now The Melancholy Of God Protect Thee, And The Tailor Make Thy Doublet Of Changable Taffata, For Thy Mind Is A Very Opal. I Would Have Men Of Such Constancy Put To Sea, That Their Business Might Be Everything, And Their Intent Everywhere, For That's It, That Always Makes A Good Voyage Of Nothing.

Sigh No More, Ladies, Sigh No More, Men Were Deceivers Ever,- One Foot In Sea And One On Shore, To One Thing Constant Never.

The Stroke Of Death Is As A Lover's Pinch, Which Hurts And Is Desired.