The Tongues Of Dying Men Enforce Attention

'by Heaven, That Thou Art Fair, Is Most Infallible True, That Thou Art Beauteous Truth Itself, That Thou Art Lovely. More Fairer Than Fair, Beautiful Than Beauteous, Truer Than Truth Itself, Have Commiseration On Thy Heroical Vassal.

Canst Thou Not Minister To A Mind Diseased, Pluck From The Memory A Rooted Sorrow, Raze Out The Written Troubles Of The Brain

To Be Once In Doubt Is Once To Be Resolved.

And To Be Merry Best Becomes You; For, Out Of Question, You Were Born In A Merry Hour. Beatrice No, Sure, My Lord, My Mother Cried; But Then There Was A Star Danced, And Under That Was I Born.

He Was Met Even Now As Mad As The Vex'd Sea; Singing Aloud; Crown'd With Rank Fumiter And Furrow-weeds, With Bur-docks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, And All The Idle Weeds That Grow In Our Sustaining Corn.