Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I

What Should A Man Do But Be Merry? For Look You How Cheerfully My Mother Looks, And My Father Died Within's Two Hours.

Rumour Doth Double, Like The Voice And Echo, The Numbers Of The Feared.

Two May Keep Counsel Putting One Away!

Time Hath, My Lord, A Wallet At His Back Wherein He Puts Alms For Oblivion, A Great-sized Monster Of Ingratitudes: Those Scraps Are Good Deeds Past, Which Are Devour'd As Fast As They Are Made, Forgot As Soon As Done.

A Jest's Prosperity Lies In The Ear Of Him That Hears It, Never In The Tongue Of Him That Makes It.