The Rest, Is Silence.

But Fish Not With This Melancholy Bait For This Fool Gudgeon, This Opinion.

But Now I Am Cabined, Cribbed, Confined, Bound In To Saucy Doubts And Fears.

And Therefore Is Love Said To Be A Child, Because In Choice He Is So Oft Beguil'd

Men At Sometime Are The Masters Of Their Fate.

What Win I, If I Gain The Thing I Seek? A Dream, A Breath, A Froth Of Fleeting Joy. Who Buys A Minute's Mirth To Wail A Week? Or Sells Eternity To Get A Toy? For One Sweet Grape Who Will The Vine Destroy? Or What Fond Beggar, But To Touch The Crown, Would With The Sceptre Straight Be Strucken Down?