Blind Is His Love, And Best Befits

My Grief Lies All Within, And These External Manners Of Lament Are Merely Shadows To The Unseen Grief That Swells With Silence In The Tortured Soul.

I Have Neither The Scholar's Melancholy, Which Is Emulation; Nor The Musician's, Which Is Fantastical; Nor The Courtier's, Which Is Proud; Not The Soldier's Which Is Ambitious; Nor The Lawyer's, Which Is Politic; Nor The Lady's, Which Is Nice; Nor The Lover's, Which Is All These: 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 A Most Humorous Sadness.

We Will Meet; And There We May Rehearse Most Obscenely And Courageously.

And Keep You In The Rear Of Your Affection, Out Of The Shot And Danger Of Desire, The Chariest Maid Is Prodigal Enough If She Unmasks Her Beauty To The Moon.

O, When She's Angry, She Is Keen And Shrewd! She Was A Vixen When She Went To School; And Though She Be But Little, She Is Fierce.