The Small Amount Of Foolery Wise Men

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.

They May Seize On The White Wonder Of Dear Juliet's Hand And Steal Immortal Blessing From Her Lips, Who, Even In Pure And Vestal Modesty, Still Blush, As Thinking Their Own Kisses Sin.

Unquiet Meals Make Ill Digestions.

It Is My Lady! *sighs* O, It Is My Love! O, That She Knew She Were! She Speaks, Yet She Sais Nothing. What Of That? Her Eye Discourses; I Will Answer It. I Am Too Bold, 'tis Not To Me She Speaks; Two Of The Fairest Stars In All The Heaven, Having Some Business, Do Entreat Her Eyes To Twinkle In Their Spheres Till They Return.

Why, I Can Smile And Murder Whiles I Smile, And Cry 'content' To That Which Grieves My Heart, And Wet My Cheeks With Artificial Tears, And Frame My Face For All Occasions