With Mirth In Funeral And With Dirge

And Either Victory, Or Else A Grave.

She Marking Them Begins A Wailing Note And Sings Extemporally A Woeful Ditty How Love Makes Young Men Thrall And Old Men Dote How Love Is Wise In Folly, Foolish-witty Her Heavy Anthem Still Concludes In Woe, And Still The Choir Of Echoes Answer So.

Loathsome Canker Lives In Sweetest Bud.

Love Is Your Master, For He Masters You; And He That Is So Yoked By A Fool Methinks Should Not Be Chronicled For Wise.

Why, Courage Then! What Cannot Be Avoided 'twere Childish Weakness To Lament Or Fear.