When The Age Is In, The Wit

When A Wise Man Gives Thee Better Counsel, Give Me Mine Again.

All Days Are Nights To See Till I See Thee, And Nights Bright Days When Dreams Do Show Thee Me.

I Will Make A Star-chamber Matter Of It.

But It Is A Melancholy Of Mine Own, Compounded Of Many Simples, Extracted From Many Objects, And Indeed The Sundry Contemplation Of My Travels, Which, By Often Rumination, Wraps Me In The Most Humorous Sadness.

Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram; The Marigold, That Goes To Bed Wi' The Sun, And With Him Rise Weeping.