Too Much To Know Is To Know

O' Thinkest Thou We Shall Ever Meet Again? I Doubt It Not; And All These Woes Shall Serve For Sweet Discourses In Our Times To Come.

Most Friendship Is Faining, Most Loving Mere Folly: Then, Heigh-ho, The Holly. This Life Is Most Jolly.

Why, Who Cries Out On Pride That Can Therein Tax Any Private Party? Doth It Not Flow As Hugely As The Sea Till The Weary Very Means Do Ebb?

I See A Woman May Be Made A Fool, If She Had Not A Spirit To Resist.

Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown, And What Strength I Have's Mine Own, Which Is Most Faint: Now, 'tis True, Or Sent To Naples. Let Me Not, Since I Have My Dukedom Got And Pardon 'd The Deceiver, Dwell In This Bare Island By Your Spell; I Must Be Here Confined By You, But Release Me From My Bands With The Help Of Your Good Hands: Gentle Breath Of Yours My Sails Must Fill, Or Else My Project Fails, Which Was To Please: Now I Want Spirits To Enforce, Art To Enchant, And My Ending Is Despair, Unless I Be Relieved By Prayer, Which Pierces So, That It Assaults Mercy Itself, And Frees All Faults. As You From Crimes Would Pardon'd Be, Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free.